Chasing Redemption
by Estora
Summary: AU. When Anakin dies, Obi-Wan is left to pick up the shattered remains of their lives. The Supreme Chancellor seems to offer escape from the grief and guilt – unfortunately, he's also just decided that Obi-Wan will make a perfect replacement apprentice...
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

Oh, look, a rewrite. How unprecedented. Don't worry, I'm absolutely continuing with this story. I just thought a bit of a rewrite was in order. You know, get things flowing more easily. Also I wrote myself in a corner, oops. Here's the new Prologue. I'm a lot happier with it, and I hope you, my lovely readers, will be as well! Stay tuned for fixed/edited chapters popping up in future.

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**CHASING REDEMPTION**

– Prologue –

Anakin Skywalker was dead.

There were days, the galaxy murmured, that were darker than the blackest night. It is said that when a Jedi goes to war, both the brightest lights and the darkest shadows are cast; hope and despair. Anakin Skywalker was one such Jedi – he was a shining beacon in a galaxy that suffered. He brought hope where there was none, light where there was darkness, warmth where there was coldness. On the eve of his death, thousands of civilians flooded the streets of Coruscant holding candles in honour of their fallen hero. From the highest windows, looking down, it looked like a sea of golden hope.

Heroes died, but what they stood for was immortal. Even so, the HoloNet News called Skywalker's death the greatest tragedy to befall the Republic since its formation.

It was also the most contrived.

_THE HERO WITH NO FEAR HAS FALLEN IN BATTLE!_

It was all very dramatic and frankly a bit ridiculous, Sidious thought as he turned away from the office window, growing bored of the 'sea of golden hope'. He sat down at his desk and pressed the tips of his fingers together, leaning back into his chair.

It wasn't as though the boy's _death _was worth the hysterics of the Republic. It had actually been embarrassingly anticlimactic, what with the boy's last words being, _"Aim for the left wing, Arto– OHKRIFF I'M HITARRRGHH –!"_

There had been no body to recover, and the only thing left of General Skywalker's fighter pilot was the black box which the Jedi quickly whisked away, leaving the Republic in mourning.

All things considered, the boy's untimely passing was terribly unfortunate for Sidious, since he had been the Chosen One and all. Anakin's death messed up his plans dreadfully which was just plain _rude_ of him, even in death. All those years of meticulous manipulations, carefully emphasised words, and establishing himself as the single person Anakin could trust… _years_ of grooming Anakin into one day becoming the perfect apprentice… he had to get himself killed in a space battle. A _space_ battle, and not even a very important one. So close to the end of the Clone Wars, too: _just_ when everything was finally coming together.

So inconsiderate.

_GENERAL SKYWALKER IS DEAD!_

Such a waste. Such loss of potential.

Palpatine deferred a supposedly important call; no doubt it was the HoloNet, once again trying to reach him so that he could make a statement on Anakin's death. Let the Republic think he was in mourning as well, Sidious thought, switching off his office commlink for the night. He would very much have liked to turn off his private commlink as well, but Sith Lords, unlike Chancellors, never stopped working. Dooku apparently decided this hour was an appropriate one to bother his Master. Sidious did not consider himself a rude man, and answered the call. It was a holoimage that came through, and Dooku's blue wavering image stood before him.

"Be quick, Darth Tyranus."

"_Master_." Dooku's holoimage bowed. "_I take it you have heard the news of Skywalker's passing._"

"Chancellor Palpatine was one of the first to hear of it." A thought occurred to Sidious. "Did you have something to do with it, my apprentice?"

"_I regret I did not_," Dooku said. "_He appears to have done it for me._"

No doubt Dooku thought that funny, for he hid a smirk. Sidious did not care much for Dooku's humour. Between them, another HoloNet headline appeared. Dooku, who no doubt was keeping an eye on the HoloNet as well, looked at it with vague interest.

_SKYWALKER KILLED IN ACTION; KENOBI ON HIS OWN!_

"_Finally_," Dooku murmured. Palpatine despised that murmur; it was as though Dooku merely enjoyed listening to the sound of his own voice, thinking it low and cultured. And perhaps it was; the trouble was that Dooku used it all the time. It became incessantly irritating very quickly. "_I was beginning to wonder when Skywalker would wipe himself from the war board. He was as troublesome as he was boorish_."

"You underestimated him, Tyranus," Sidious said. Annoyed thoughts to the contrary, Anakin Skywalker had always been very capable. More than capable; he had been _beautiful_. A vergence in the Force, and the person who would have one day succeeded in bringing Dooku to his mercy. A warrior with few equals.

Dooku did not look like he agreed. That arrogance would have been his downfall, Sidious thought, and entertained the idea of his current apprentice on his knees before Anakin's fury.

"_With your permission,_ Master," Dooku said, "_I would like to… return my focus to Kenobi for the time being._"

"You still wish to turn him to our side, Tyranus?"

"_I have hopes yet, my Lord_."

_Enjoy your little pet project, then_, Sidious thought, and dismissed Dooku. It would keep the Count occupied if nothing else, and Sidious needed Dooku out of the way if he was to start the search for a new apprentice. Anakin had set the standard high – where Sidious would find another specimen at Anakin's level he had no idea. This did not mean Sidious was without a plan, for the Dark Lord of the Sith was _never_ without a plan. There were possibilities: keep Dooku but dispose of him soon; perhaps set his sights on the fiery Togruta girl Anakin had trained briefly, or even another Zabrak. There was some promise in the Veran woman, though she lacked the necessary midichlorian count to be of proper use.

_KENOBI ON HIS OWN_, Sidious read again, and turned it off.


	2. Don't Feel

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

Edited, slightly improved, etc. etc.! For those of you who don't yet know, I'm actually rewriting this story. Mostly just to fix the things that annoyed me from before, like the Prologue. If you haven't read the new Prologue yet, please do!

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**CHASING REDEMPTION**

– Chapter One –  
Don't Feel

"_Aim for the left wing, Arto– OHKRIFF I'M HITARRRGHH –! Aim for the left wing, Arto– OHKRIFF I'M HITARRRGHH –! Aim for the left wing, Arto– OHKRIFF I'M HITARRRGHH –!"_

For someone as outspoken and glorious as Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan thought stupidly, those were terrible last words.

The Chosen One, the Hero With No Fear: dead.

A soft, tired sigh escaped his lips and he lowered himself to the couch, his hands pressed together to hide that almost imperceptible tremble. "There is no death, there is only the Force," Obi-Wan murmured, but his voice was drowned out by Anakin's recording. His voice sounded strange to himself; hoarse and strained, even though it was the first time he'd spoken since he'd heard the news. Since he'd felt Anakin's existence ripped away from him like a limb being torn off by a savage, starved rancor beast.

"_Aim for the left wing, Arto– OHKRIFF I'M HITARRRGHH –!"_

What did he hope to gain or accomplish, he wondered, sitting there and listening to Anakin's last moments over and over even though it was branded in his mind already, impossible to forget? Realisation? Acceptance? Even now, two days after the fact, Obi-Wan was expecting for Anakin to swagger through the door with that half-smirk as if to say, _fooled you, Master._

"Obi-Wan," he corrected, pretending for a moment and believing it far too easily that Anakin really was there. "I'm not your Master anymore."

"_Aim for the left wing, Arto– OHKRIFF I'M HITARRRGHH –!"_ Anakin replied.

He wondered how Anakin must have felt, what he was thinking. He wondered what Anakin might have said if he was given those precious few moments. It was why Jedi sometimes carried holocrons around: in case they were dying and desired to impart some final words of wisdom, or leave a message for someone. Some, Obi-Wan knew, even left tearful confessions. Anakin left nothing behind but agony.

"_Aim for the left wing, Arto– OHKRIFF I'M HITARRRGHH –!"_

He wondered if any of this was real, or if it was just some elaborate prank constructed by Anakin as retribution for his own supposed 'death' a year ago, when he went undercover as Rako Hardeen.

_No. That's too cruel. Anakin would never do that._

"_Aim for the left wing, Arto– OHKRIFF I'M HI–"_

Obi-Wan shut the recording off and left the room to make his way to Anakin's. There would have to be something on the pyre to burn ceremoniously in place of Anakin's body, Obi-Wan was absently reminded of as he looked around Anakin's freakishly quiet bedroom, so seldom used since the outbreak of war. Something symbolic. A set of robes, maybe, or that silver disc he kept by his bedside for years that looked blue and green and pink and yellow all at the same time when the sun hit it just right… A prized possession… His Padawan braid…

Obi-Wan sometimes wondered what Anakin had actually done with his braid. He hadn't given it to his Master after his Knighting as Obi-Wan had arrogantly expected – _hoped_ – which meant his former Padawan either kept it or gave it to someone else. Anakin would never have thrown that braid out; he was far too proud of it, loved it too dearly. Was far too attached to it.

He knew he should start to go through Anakin's belongings and methodically throw them out, as he did with Qui-Gon's things, until there was nothing left that even indicated another person had ever been here. But it felt wrong. It made him feel sick to be thinking about scouring Anakin's bedroom from top to bottom, when it still felt like Anakin was about to burst through the door, face flushed from a gruelling sparring session with a fellow Knight. Any moment now, _Ha! Got you one, Master! That's payback for your stint as Hardeen._

He wished that was Anakin's style.

Obi-Wan sat down on the edge of his former Padawan's bed and let his hand fall beside him. Anakin's presence still clung to the room and the sheets, as powerful and lively as he'd been mere days ago. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel Anakin in the room, and wouldn't have to remind himself that Anakin was gone for good.

He sighed again and tried to force tears to the surface.

They didn't come.

* * *

It was only two months into the Outer Rim Sieges but it was nearing the end of the fourth year into the Clone Wars. All of the battles were beginning to sound the same to Obi-Wan. All of the duels blurring in with each other, the space battles becoming one long war, no distinction between the planets he'd fought on and above. There were names and dates: the Battle of Anison, the Second Battle of Jabiim, fourteen months After the Battle of Geonosis, the Battle for Salvation Run, so on and so forth.

"…Senator Organa wishes to use the _Intervention_ on a survey of the situation in the Outer Rim Territories. I can lead a task force, but we still need a pilot."

Mace paused to look around the Council for suggestions.

Pilot, Obi-Wan repeated in his mind, and reality tilted for a moment. "Anakin can –"

He caught his breath and broke off abruptly, and an awkward silence clogged the air. He closed his eyes and pressed a hand to his forehead, feeling the weight of eleven pitying gazes turning on him.

Anakin _couldn't_.

No-one seemed to know quite what to say, so it was the Grandmaster who broke the silence.

"Feel your pain, we do, Obi-Wan," Yoda consoled. "Understand, we do. A terrible loss, this has been. But above your attachment you must be, if on this Council you are to remain. One with the Force, young Skywalker is now. Mourn him do not. Miss him, do not."

Obi-Wan blinked, and some dormant part of him wished he had the strength of will or possessed the impertinence to walk out of the room. But he didn't, so he stayed seated, silent and still, and tonelessly said, "I understand, Master."

The rest of the meeting had little impact on Obi-Wan. There was something more about Grievous, and the war, and Dooku, and the Outer Rim sieges, and the darkness clouding the Force, and Obi-Wan knew he should have been paying attention but all he could hear was _don't mourn him, don't miss him_ and those horrid last words playing over and over again in his mind…

"…rumours of the Separatists blockading the graveyard planet Boz Pity, but so far no confirmations…"

_Pay attention_, Obi-Wan thought, but he couldn't and instead just sat there in a dull daze, not even moving when the meeting was adjourned and the Council Members began filing out, every now and then casting a sympathetic look over towards him. Obi-Wan left his seat and waited by a window, hiding his lightly trembling hands in the sleeves of his robe. He heard the door close except he wasn't yet alone.

_Go away,_ he thought. _Go away, Mace, I don't want to talk to anyone, just leave. Please._

"Obi-Wan?"

"Don't mourn him. Don't miss him," Obi-Wan murmured as though he hadn't heard the Korun Master, unable to even gather the strength to sound bitter. "He hasn't even had his ceremony yet. It hasn't even been three days. How can I…"

Mace said nothing. Obi-Wan turned to him.

"There was nothing left," Obi-Wan said. "Nothing but the black box. No body means no physical proof of demise, so how can we be certain he is dead? Why are you so quick to rule out possible survival? Have you learned nothing from my case at Jabiim? Anakin could be alive, hurt somewhere! The –"

"Obi-Wan –"

"– bond is broken but that doesn't mean anything, it could be a Force suppressant –"

"Obi-Wan!"

Obi-Wan fell silent.

"Listen to me. We _did_ find something else. He's gone, Obi-Wan. You have to accept it."

"What did you find?"

Mace sighed wearily, looking old. "I didn't want to be the one to tell you this," he muttered. "It was part of his arm."

"The –"

"The durasteel one," Mace confirmed.

Obi-Wan's eyes flickered. That didn't prove anything. It was durasteel; it could survive a lot. Perhaps it detached. Perhaps – "That's still –"

"_No-one_ could have survived that crash," Mace said firmly. "Not even the Chosen One. We looked. There was nothing else."

Obi-Wan felt his throat close up when Mace crushed the spark of hope. "You never believed he was the Chosen One," he said softly.

Mace winced. "Obi-Wan…"

He turned away again. "I'd like to be left alone for a while, Master Windu. Please."

There was a tense moment of silence. "All right," Mace finally said, probably after trusting that Obi-Wan wasn't quite so distressed as to fall on his lightsaber, and departed the Council Chambers quickly, leaving Obi-Wan blissfully, horridly alone. He didn't have to put up with the pity and meaningless but well-intended condolences of his peers, but he was also left alone to his own thoughts, and lately all his thoughts seemed to consist of were replaying Anakin's brutal last words over and over again.

If he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the cold window, he could almost imagine Anakin standing behind him. "I should have been there," Obi-Wan whispered. "I should have been with you. Would my presence have made you less reckless, Anakin? You always need me to pull you back, although one would think you'd learn to start doing it on your own…"

Silence.

"Were you right? Was I chasing ghosts? Are you gone because I left you so I could track down Ventress?"

It was still a surprise when Anakin didn't answer.

Obi-Wan exhaled loudly and ran a hand through his hair. _Stop it. Pull yourself together. Concentrate._

Other lessons also came to him: release your emotions into the Force. There is no death; there is only the Force. One with the Force, Anakin Skywalker is.

He still needed to find Anakin's Padawan braid. Somehow he'd track it down; he owed Anakin that much. But what would he do with it once he found it? The unbidden thought made him shudder a little. Rational thought told him to place it on Anakin's memorial pyre, to represent the physical body which no longer existed, as was right and proper and expected of him.

…_o__r…_

Or, he could keep it. He could keep it because Anakin would not have wanted his Padawan braid burned. He could keep it, because it was the only organic part of Anakin which still existed. He could keep it because he didn't want to let go of the man who had been his brother and son and friend for fourteen years.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and breathed deeply. No. No, he couldn't do that. It wasn't right. If he managed to find the braid he would place it on the pyre as he was expected to, both from himself and the Order, he firmly decided. His stomach lurched when the thought of the thin coil of golden-blond hair going up in flames shifted into an image of Anakin twisting frantically in his starfighter cockpit, mouth open in an eternal scream of agony, fire eating away at his clothes and scorching his flesh as the starfighter started to disintegrate around him –

_Enough,_ his mind snapped, and Obi-Wan took a sharp breath and focused on the sprawling city below him. _Do not think about that. It didn't happen that way, it was quick, he didn't feel anything –_

Any moment now. Any moment, and Anakin would creep up behind him and startle him, and all of this would be a bad dream that he couldn't wake up from.

The moment passed and he didn't wake up. Obi-Wan shivered against the cold transparisteel window and gazed out at 500 Republica in the distance. He would go tomorrow, he decided, and ask Senator Amidala if she knew anything about Anakin's braid.

Don't mourn him.

Don't miss him.

Three days. His eyes were still dry.


	3. Don't Forgive

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**CHASING REDEMPTION**

– Chapter Two –  
Don't Forgive

Late afternoon on the fourth day after Anakin's death found Obi-Wan waiting outside Senator Amidala's door in the luxurious apartments of 500 Republica. It was the third time he had rung the intercom and still there was no answer, yet he didn't leave; he could sense Padmé's presence in there. Common sense told him to leave her alone – there was no question as to why she was ignoring him. The atmosphere on his way to her residence thickened with grief with every step he came closer. She was at the centre of the suffering. Any other Jedi or Force-sensitive would have turned away, too overwhelmed by the raw emotion and raised their shields to cut themselves off completely, so they wouldn't have to feel her grief as though it was as painful and agonising as their own.

Obi-Wan kept his shields down.

On the fourth ring, Obi-Wan was finally greeted by C-3PO. "Good afternoon, Master Kenobi," it said, sounding far more cheerful than was absolutely necessary.

"Good afternoon," Obi-Wan replied shortly for the sake of being polite. Even if it was only to a droid. "Is Senator Amidala available?"

"I'm afraid she has taken ill, sir, and is unable to see anybody. May I take a message for her?"

Ill? More like ill with grief. Obi-Wan shook his head. "Tell her Obi-Wan Kenobi is here and urgently needs to speak with her."

Was it possible for a droid to look insulted? "Master Kenobi, I just informed you that she is unwell and is unable to –"

"I heard you, but I would very much appreciate it if you could give her my message," Obi-Wan interrupted impatiently.

"Sir –"

"Immediately."

"Well, I never…" the droid muttered as it shuffled away. Obi-Wan sighed. A droid with a personality – only Anakin could have come up with something like that. The thought made him smile, just a bit, and he started to turn towards Anakin and dryly make fun of it, until he reminded himself that Anakin was dead. The smile disappeared, and the wisecrack died in his throat.

C-3PO returned quickly. "The Senator has received your message and requested I show you in. Would you like some refreshments, Master Kenobi?"

"That's really quite unnecessary," Obi-Wan murmured and pushed past the indignant C-3PO to find Padmé in the main room.

She looked a mess. Hair knotted and tangled, half out of whatever hairstyle it had been in from days ago, and face red and splotchy with tears, Padmé Amidala had never looked quite so awful. She looked up at him when he came closer with red, pain-stricken eyes, and Obi-Wan nearly keeled over with the wave of emotion.

"Obi-Wan –" she gasped out, "everyone's been saying – the HoloNet says – please tell me it's not… not…"

_It's true_, he tried to say, but his throat closed up and he looked down to let the silence answer for him.

"No," Padmé denied, shaking her head. "No. I don't believe you. I won't. Anakin couldn't – he's not – he's the best pilot in the Republic. He isn't –"

"Padmé…"

"_No!_" she cried, and clutched at the fabric of the couch tightly. "Don't – don't say that – he can't – no… oh, Anakin, Anakin –"

Obi-Wan had been around grieving women before. He sat down beside her, close enough for their knees to touch, and he rested a hand on her shuddering back. He knew he should say something, anything, but the words were caught in his throat.

"Why are you here?" she finally managed to get out, and Obi-Wan swallowed.

"I came to ask something of you. I know you and Anakin are – were close." Just _how_ close, he was almost certain he knew, but didn't say. "I came to ask if you have any knowledge of the whereabouts of his Padawan braid."

Even to himself, that sounded rude and uncaring. He wanted to sympathise, he _wanted_ to be able to share her grief with her, but he… couldn't.

Padmé, startled by his abruptness, caught her breath and brushed the tears from her cheeks, and frowned. "Why?"

That alone was enough to confirm that she had it, but what was he supposed to tell her? That he intended to burn it? Or that maybe, once he had the precious coil of hair in his hands, he intended to keep it? "It… it may be the only organic part of him left. His ceremony will be held in a few days…"

That was all he could bring himself to say.

It took a long time for his words to make sense to her. Padmé stared at him through disbelieving, blood-shot eyes, as if not quite understanding what he was asking of her, but the daze soon transformed into outrage and Obi-Wan flinched. "How dare you!" she snarled, her voice as deadly as a laigrek's hiss. "How _dare_ you ask for it – you want to burn it, don't you! You have no right, no right – he didn't give it to you, he gave it to _me_, and I won't let you destroy that part of him." Tears streamed down her face again and she was standing on her feet, towering over Obi-Wan. "Sometimes I honestly hate you, Obi-Wan Kenobi. I hate that Anakin had to choose between me and the war and the Jedi – and _you_! Where were you when he died? He chose _you_ and he died for it, before I could tell him about – about –"

With a choke and a moan, she dropped back down to the couch and shuddered. Obi-Wan watched her face, entranced by the tears that rolled down her cheeks uncontrollably, and the coils of envy tightened in his stomach.

"About?" he said, his voice no louder than a whisper, but she shook her head.

"Where were you?" she demanded instead. "Where were you when he died? Why weren't you with him?"

She blamed him. She hadn't said so in words, but it was in her eyes, in her posture, in the tenseness of the Force which swirled around her like a sandstorm of anger. What could he tell her? That he was busy hunting down a woman believed dead while Anakin was deployed on his own to the Outer Rim Sieges? "I was on a solo mission," he tried to explain, but this wasn't enough for Padmé. It wasn't even enough for _him_.

"Anakin always told me that you were always by his side in battle, so why was this any different?" she snapped. The words pierced him like daggers of guilt in his chest – it wasn't like that, hadn't _been_ like that.

"I was trying to find Ventress," he said, and it didn't even sound like him, like his words. It sounded so pathetic, like such a weak excuse. _I was trying to find Ventress. I was trying to find her while Anakin –_

"_She's dead!_" Padmé shrieked. "She's dead, Obi-Wan! Anakin told me that she's dead, that he killed her – you were chasing ghosts while Anakin – Anakin –"

_While Anakin was shot down – killed. While Anakin died._

"I will never forgive you for this, Obi-Wan, never, never, never –"

She dissolved into tears and wept loudly into Obi-Wan's tunic, her tears soaking through the coarse fabric. Even as she muttered _never never never_ like a mantra, each word a lightsaber stab to his heart, Obi-Wan held her tightly, rocked her, and pressed a trembling hand to her head. She clutched at him blindly through her wretched sobs.

"I'm pregnant," she wept. "We're – we were married. It's been three years."

He froze. _What?_

The words meant nothing and everything to him, and he couldn't do a thing about it except stare at Padmé vacantly. She buried her face into Obi-Wan's tunic and fisted her hands in his robes, searching for some reply, some reassurance that everything would be all right, but all he could do was rub her back, mind paralysed.

_Oh, Anakin…what have you done?_

She would not find the reassurance she was desperately searching for, not when he couldn't even find it for himself. Obi-Wan swallowed and eased her into his arms. She felt limp and was lighter than he'd expected her to be – no doubt she'd eaten little since the news. Almost in a daze, Obi-Wan carried her from the couch to her bedroom and laid her down on her bed. The sheer weight of Anakin's Force Signature – the room throbbed with it, aching for his presence – nearly made him stagger. Anakin had _lived_ here. Obi-Wan bit back the nausea as Padmé curled up in her silk sheets, still fully clothed since it wasn't exactly appropriate he help her undress since she was _Anakin's wife_ –

Obi-Wan rose and tried to turn away. He had to get away from here, get out, he didn't think he could take it much more, _don't cry don't cry don't cry not here_ –

Padmé's hand gripped his left tunic sleeve, halting him. "Wait," she choked, "don't – I don't want –"

She didn't want to be alone, Obi-Wan realised. Even though she blamed him, even though she hated the very sight of him and the fact that Anakin was dead instead of him, she needed his presence. Her hand wound tightly in the sleeve of his tunic like an anchor, and there was no fight left in him to pull away.

Obi-Wan released a shaky sigh and let himself descend onto the cold silk sheets where Anakin's Force Signature still thrummed with life. It was unbearable, this constant reminder that he would never be coming back to seal the gaping wound in the Force. Padmé sobbed softly beside him, her hand still fisted in his sleeve and her face buried in the sheets. He stayed awake, watched the lights of passing traffic filtered through the half-closed blinds dance across the wall, long after Padmé cried herself to sleep.

* * *

Obi-Wan didn't sleep that night.

Unconsciousness refused to claim him – it was as though the Force deemed him unworthy to make that escape into a safe realm, preferring to make him suffer with every waking thought, hearing Anakin's last words and watching him burn in his cockpit, and Padmé's confession, her tears, _I'm pregnant, we were married_, running through his mind at the speed of a jump to hyperspace.

It was early on the fifth morning after Anakin's death when he finally pulled himself from the bed. A glance in the dressing table vanity reflected an old, tired man, and for a second he barely recognised himself. As always, when he rolled out of bed in the mornings, his hair was mussed up at the back and his beard ungroomed – Anakin used to make fun of this, since he could always stroll into the kitchen with his hair frustratingly perfect. _Got into another fight with a Gundark, Master? _Anakin used to smirk, and Obi-Wan allowed himself a small smile at the memory, but it didn't last long. Bruise-like hues hung under his grey, empty eyes, and Force there were the greying hairs – mostly Anakin's fault, of course. If he closed his eyes he could feel Anakin standing behind him, grinning. Running his hands through the peppered grey hair, Obi-Wan murmured, "This is all your doing, you realise."

Predictably – or perhaps shockingly – Anakin didn't reply, and Obi-Wan exhaled loudly and opened his eyes. Padmé slept still, but she was restless. Stress and grief lined her face, but at least she was relatively undisturbed. She would wake soon, however, and she'd expect him to be there. He'd like to leave there and then so he wouldn't have to face the accusing words of a grieving widow that would be thrown at him next, but Obi-Wan was not a coward (not completely) and only made his escape as far as the kitchen.

Mechanically he found himself making tea. It wasn't for him, he didn't like that blend. Anakin did. He supposed Padmé did too. Made sense, really, considering that they were married.

_Married. _

_They were _married_._

_Oh, Anakin…_

A shift in the Force had Obi-Wan return to Padmé's bedroom, steaming cup in hand, to find Padmé sitting up on the bed with her legs drawn up to her chest, staring blankly out of the window. She didn't acknowledge his presence until he sat beside her and gave her the tea.

"Thank you," she murmured and clasped her hands around the cup, turning her bloodshot eyes towards him. Obi-Wan just nodded, and she sipped the tea in silence.

He should being saying something, he realised. Comforting her, maybe even asking her, but everything that ran through his mind was about Anakin and he wasn't ready for that yet.

Padmé finally broke the silence when she'd finished her tea. "Aren't you going to tell me off?" she murmured, as if defeated. "Tell me that you warned me? That you're disappointed in both me and Anakin for doing exactly what you told us not to do?"

He wanted to – _Force_ he wanted to. That small, nasty part of him that he hated reared its ugly head, longing to spit out exactly that and so much more but he pushed it down before it even took hold and shook his head. "No," he said, his voice strangely hoarse. "No."

How could he? It would be easy, but he wouldn't let himself. How could he say everything he wanted to say when Anakin wasn't there to defend himself?

_And never will be again?_

But Padmé must have taken his silent turmoil as indifference. "How can you be so – so _emotionless?_" she muttered bitterly. "You were like a father to him, a brother, he _loved_ you and I can't believe you can just sit there so stoically as though his death means nothing to you."

The words cut deeply. "I am not… without emotion," Obi-Wan protested pathetically, but Padmé scoffed and pressed her hand to her mouth as if physically trying to stop whatever hurtful words would fall from her lips next. It didn't work.

"Damn you. Damn you Jedi. You're all the same. You all felt little to begin with and this war has just numbed you completely to human emotions. I'm glad Anakin never let himself become like you, you don't feel a thing –"

"Do not presume to know what I do and do not feel, Senator," Obi-Wan interrupted coldly. _You may have been married to him in a quick joining of unrestrained lust, Padmé, but I raised him for fourteen years so don't you _dare –

His verbal slap made her wince, and as she bowed her head and bit back a sob Obi-Wan felt a ripple of guilt through the Force.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and covered her face with her hands. "I'm sorry. I know you cared for him – I'm just so –"

"Shh. It's all right. I know," he murmured. She shook her head helplessly and pulled away, slipping a hand into her inner chest pocket. She wouldn't meet his eyes when she withdrew her hand, and Obi-Wan caught his breath. Resting simply on her palm was a thin golden beaded braid of hair. He'd recognise that braid anywhere, how could he not, he plaited it himself all those years ago and threaded the beads in. His hand ached to grasp it, missing the feel of the soft strands of Anakin's hair as it felt whenever he tugged it playfully.

But all he could do was stare at it.

Padmé was talking, and to his ears she sounded light years away even though she was right there in front of him, holding out Anakin's braid. "You can… take it, Obi-Wan. For the ceremony –"

It was so tempting, just to reach out and grasp that thin coil of hair, to feel the soft remnants of Anakin's Force Signature warm him and comfort him. So tempting, to just snatch it from her hand and hide it in his inner pocket alongside the Force-sensitive stone Qui-Gon had given him, close to his heart so he would never be apart from him again. He could take it.

He could take it away from Anakin's wife, and from Anakin's unborn child – from the woman he had seen fit to bequeath it to, from the child he left behind without ever knowing.

Anakin would hate Obi-Wan if he took it away. Obi-Wan would hate himself.

"No," he protested gently, and curled her fingers back around the braid, even as his heart shattered in his chest. "Anakin would have wanted you to keep it. I don't… I don't want it to be… please. Keep him safe."

He didn't want it to be burned, not that he would have let that happen. At least with Padmé, it was with the person Anakin wanted it to be with, but that knowledge didn't stop the selfish ache of betrayal, _why didn't you give it to me_, all these years and _not once_ did Anakin ever trust him enough to even hint at the fact he was _married_ –

Padmé started to weep again, and hugged the precious relic to her breast. She sobbed out a barely legible 'thank-you' and let Obi-Wan cover her up with the sheets once more so she could rest.

On autopilot, Obi-Wan made sure she had something eat and was resting in bed once more before he made his escape. Sharp instructions to contact him immediately if Padmé became distressed and needed him were thrown over his shoulder to the befuddled C-3PO in haste as he left, unable to take the heavy burden any longer. Every breath he took, every surface he touched, screamed with Anakin's presence, and any moment he would stagger through the door, bloody and dirtied and ragged but _alive_ and everything would be all right but it _wasn't_ because he was dead and he would never get to see his unborn child and _oh Anakin _–

He barely knew where he was directing the speeder and just let the Force guide his instincts, left turn there, right turn up ahead, ducking in and out of traffic and barely hearing the blaring horns screaming after him. All he could hear were the brutal words of a woman who had lost her husband – _husband, they were married, Anakin why didn't you tell me I thought you trusted me_ – running through his mind, _I will never forgive you for this, Obi-Wan, never, never, never…_

It hurt, but he didn't need her forgiveness. It hadn't been _her_ he'd raised from childhood. It hadn't been _her_ he'd been through thick and thin with. It hadn't been _her_ he'd promised that he would always, always be at her back, always be with her, until he wasn't.

No. It wasn't _her_ forgiveness he needed, or wanted. Her words hurt, only because they were the exact same things he told himself.

The speeder slowed to a stop in some dark, cold shadow that stretched further than he cared to see. Far below the traffic routes of Coruscant, Obi-Wan let his hands fall from the steering wheel and he slumped back into the chair.

Intellectually he knew he that Anakin's death was in no way his fault, but it felt like he was trying to sell himself to lies. He shivered under the cold shadow cast by whatever building he was hiding under and stared down at his hands, not bothering to tug his robe more tightly around his body. He needed to go back to the Temple and meditate, which according to the Code was the answer to everything, but the Force trembled with his own shock and wouldn't cooperate. He needed to go back and collect his thoughts and think everything through rationally, methodically, but the only thing his mind seemed capable of screaming was _Anakin married_ and _Padmé pregnant_ and none of it made sense and _stop shaking, just stop shaking, get ahold of yourself, why can't you stop shaking_.

He couldn't go back to the Temple in this state. It would only mean an interrogation from Mace, and he didn't think he could stay silent if he was asked.

His silence, he thought, was the very least he owed Anakin.

When he looked up from his trembling hands, he discovered with numb surprise that it was the Senate building's cold, dark shadow that shrouded him.


	4. Don't Cry

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**CHASING REDEMPTION**

– Chapter Three –  
Don't Cry

He found himself waiting outside the Supreme Chancellor's office.

This was a phenomenon all on its own, as there was no rational _reason_ for him to be waiting outside the Chancellor's office – especially considering that Obi-Wan was not particularly fond of Palpatine. Aside from the fact that the Chancellor was a politician and politicians were Not To Be Trusted, the man had positively appalling taste in interior design, what with the red carpets and Sith-like statues all over the place. It was _disturbing_. Why Anakin went there every other tenday when possible was beyond Obi-Wan. There wasn't anything particularly appealing about the setting, besides Palpatine's smooth tongue. The man was practically an autocrat, anyway, a complete subversion of everything Obi-Wan believed in.

And yet, there he was. There he was, hoping for some _insane_ reason to talk to the man whom Anakin had always trusted, always valued his friendship with, more than he had with Obi-Wan. However much Obi-Wan disliked Palpatine, the man had cared for Anakin, and vice versa. Palpatine had been, as much as he loathed to admit it, another one of Anakin's mentors. Probably, he thought bitterly, a preferred one. _Unbecoming of you, this jealousy is_, he imagined Yoda rightfully scolding him. The Grandmaster was right, of course: completely inappropriate. Jedi didn't get jealous.

_Don't mourn him._

_Don't miss him._

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, his heart pounding painfully in his chest, as the Red Guards commed Palpatine. Security was tight these days, naturally at the behest of the Supreme Chancellor himself.

"_Allow Master Kenobi entry_," Palpatine's static voice came over the commlink. The Red Guards on either side of the door stood aside, and Obi-Wan went in.

Like Padmé's apartment, the chamber reeked of Anakin's presence, and Obi-Wan felt himself turning to throw off some teasing comment about his collection of politicians for friends before again reminding himself – again – that Anakin was dead.

It was clear the Supreme Chancellor was grieving. Not unlike Padmé, his eyes were red-rimmed and a half-empty box of tissues resided on the desk. So he, too, had wept. Obi-Wan bit back the irrational wave of envy.

"Thank you for seeing me, Your Excellency," Obi-Wan murmured. "I realise you are busy."

"Busy?" Palpatine repeated, and sighed softly. "Oh, yes, I suppose. More so these days – lately I have neglected my work, and taken the time to grieve out of respect for the fallen." He sighed again. "I am sorry for the Order's loss, Master Kenobi. Anakin was a remarkable young man."

The Order's loss. Not Obi-Wan's. "Yes, he was," Obi-Wan agreed absently. _And perhaps if I'd been with him, we would not be talking now._

It was not egotism that spurred his thoughts; Anakin was far superior in, well, most if not all forms of combat than Obi-Wan, but Obi-Wan's presence usually stopped him from taking risks. Obi-Wan had been the water to balance Anakin's fire. One could not exist without the other.

His guilt hung in the silence, and somehow, with that uncanny politician's ability of his, Palpatine seemed to know exactly what Obi-Wan was thinking, and startled him with his words. "It was hardly your fault, Master Kenobi –"

"I should have been there. I should have been at his back like I always promised I would be. He would have been less reckless –" Obi-Wan broke off and let out a humourless, slightly hysterical, laugh. "Less reckless," he scoffed. "Force, listen to me. Everything Anakin ever _did_ was reckless, regardless of whether or not I was there."

Like tearing after Dooku without waiting for Obi-Wan on Geonosis. Like getting himself killed in a space battle, the last place anyone would have expected the legendary fighter to perish. Like marrying Padmé Amidala. And getting her pregnant.

Curiously, the Chancellor's expression was not questioning – instead, it was almost pitying. Palpatine sighed again, the sound of a tired and very sad man, and turned to gaze out of the large transparisteel window overlooking the Coruscant capital. "Yes," he agreed sadly, "Anakin was always rather impulsive. His heart was in the right place, but… well, he wasn't terribly _bright_, when it came to considering consequences."

He wanted to leap to Anakin's defence, but he couldn't. The Chancellor was right. Did Anakin _ever_ think about the consequences of his risk-taking? Did he ever consider the possibility that being the Chosen One _didn't_ mean he was immortal? Surely, _surely_ he would have been smart enough to think about that after Geonosis with the permanent reminder of his carelessness, but the boy had been as cocky as he had ever been following his recovery and his countless death-defying victories throughout the war.

No. Of course Anakin wouldn't have stopped to think about how his unlikely, untimely death would affect those who cared about him.

The Chancellor seemed to be thinking the same thing, and sighed regretfully again. Obi-Wan followed his eyes. The Chancellor was staring at 500 Republica, where Padmé's raw grief still penetrated Obi-Wan. It should have been impossible for it to reach him where he was, and yet he could still feel it and pretend it was his own, brutal and endless.

Anything was better than this chasm of _nothingness_.

Palpatine's emotions, on the other hand, were flitting around the red chambers, everywhere and nowhere at once, but Obi-Wan could identify most of them. Sorrow, loss, apprehension for the outcome of war now that the Republic's best fighter was gone… sympathy, for those who now lived without the vibrant young man.

After beat Obi-Wan began to suspect, with increasing disbelief and hurt that he shouldn't have been feeling –

"You knew."

Palpatine turned to him, expression faintly puzzled. "I beg your pardon?"

Obi-Wan could hardly keep the incredulity out of his raising voice. "You knew. You knew of Anakin's relationship with Senator Amidala. Didn't you."

He sounded accusatory, not questioning. The Chancellor frowned in confusion. "Of course I knew," Palpatine said as though it was the most obvious thing in the galaxy. "He trusted me with many things. Surely he told you…" he trailed off, suddenly uncertain.

Obi-Wan bit back a bitter laugh. But that was just it, he _didn't_ know until last night.

_He trusted me with many things_.

Anakin trusted the Chancellor with almost everything, and trusted Obi-Wan with… virtually nothing. The truth, that cruel realisation, shook him to the bone. _All those years, and not once did he trust me enough to confide in me_.

_But what did you ever do, Kenobi, to give him reason to trust you?_

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to get ahold of himself.

Did Palpatine know about Padmé's pregnancy as well? Perhaps not – not even Anakin had the chance to know. He died before he could find out. Obi-Wan shook his head, and his heart pounded in his ears. "No," he answered, sounding dazed to his own ears. "No. I didn't know. Not until yesterday. He never – never said a word. I didn't… know."

"I'm so sorry, Master Kenobi… I thought he'd told you. He admired you so."

Admiration was not the same as trust – trust that Obi-Wan had spent every day for the past fourteen years slaving away to earn (_but did you really?_), when this _politician_ could just _step in_ and –

– _no, don't think like that, that's paranoia, calm down, calm down, release, Jedi are supposed to have no emotion –_

But if they were supposed to have no emotion, why did this all hurt so much?

"Obviously he did not," Obi-Wan said coldly. "I recall on many occasions Anakin would call me a bad Master, and I have little doubt he shared these thoughts with you."

"Come now, Master Kenobi, you can't believe that. Anakin always spoke highly of your teaching methods – and to show for it, he became a hero of the Republic…"

_Ah, yes. A hero_, Obi-Wan's mind mocked as Palpatine praised Anakin, and said something about how Obi-Wan couldn't have done a better job at raising the fiery young man (_who coincidently also died a fiery death_, the coldness hissed) who was to become the Republic's Hero With No Fear –

"The Hero With No Fear," Obi-Wan spat viciously, and the Chancellor flinched. "The Hero With No _Sense_, more like!"

These emotions were wrong, all wrong. He had no control over the anger and it kept on building, and some little space in the corner of his mind told him to calm down and meditate, release those emotions into the Force like a good Jedi Master, but the words, the anger, just kept coming.

"He was abrasive, impetuous, completely disrespectful and overconfident to the point of sheer _idiocy_, and he threw back everything Qui-Gon sacrificed for him and everything I ever taught him in my face and deceived the Order and _lied_ to me!" Obi-Wan cried, agitatedly pacing the length of Palpatine's hideous red chambers. _Stop this, calm down –_ "Why would he lie to me? I was the one who practically raised him and still he couldn't trust me enough to tell me that he was _married._ I – I would have helped him, he should have – why didn't he –"

And he couldn't find the words to go on, didn't know what was wrong with him, didn't know why he felt so angry, it wasn't right to speak like that or think like that because Anakin wasn't there to defend himself, and Force he could hardly breathe anymore –

"But despite that, you still loved him, didn't you, Master Kenobi? You loved him."

The words made him tremble and he didn't want to listen to the Chancellor's voice, but he found himself nodding helplessly and gasping for breath beneath the sheer weight of the words, because it was horribly true and because Anakin was gone and he wasn't coming back and he'd never told him that yes, he _did_ love him, he loved him as much as he loved Qui-Gon, maybe more, and he didn't mean what he had just said and _Anakin wasn't coming back_.

When Qui-Gon died in Obi-Wan's arms, there was no room for denial. With Qui-Gon there was a sense of closure; he'd _been_ there with him, he'd held him in his arms as the Force claimed his spirit, hadn't left his side. He'd witnessed it, and in his last moments Qui-Gon gave Anakin to him, a gift to heal the bond that was untimely ripped from them.

He wasn't there with Anakin – he shouldn't have _had _to have been. No Master should ever have to outlive their apprentice. There was nothing to heal the shattered bond with Anakin's death. There was no closure, no reassurance, because he had been on the other side of the galaxy chasing an enmity. Force, there hadn't even been a _body_. It felt like he was bleeding but he couldn't find the wound to staunch the loss, and with every passing second he was losing more and more blood and he tried to breathe but his throat was closed up and someone was squeezing his forearms so tightly he was sure it would bruise later but all he could think was that Anakin was dead, he was _dead_ –

– _Kenobi, you need to take a breath before you – Master Kenobi! Snap out of it, you foolish man, _breathe_ –_

He felt his head snap sharply to the left and his right cheek burning with pain, incredulously realised through the haze _someone slapped me_, and the sting was so minor in comparison to the agonising ache in his chest that he only just registered the rush of air flooding his lungs and he was gasping, shuddering. Oxygen returned to his brain, but reality hit back at the same time. A hand – a human hand, warm with compassion – settled onto his shoulder.

Obi-Wan looked up shakily and blinked confusedly as the spots from his vision faded, allowing Palpatine's concerned face to swim into view. "I am breathing," he said, then everything shattered.

Five days after Anakin Skywalker's death, Obi-Wan Kenobi buried his face in his hands, and cried.


	5. Don't Miscalculate

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**CHASING REDEMPTION**

– Chapter Four –  
Don't Miscalculate

Sidious was a man of many things, but he was not – never had been, and never would be – a liar.

He was, as much as he loathed admitting it, similar to the Jedi in that respect. Jedi didn't _lie_, per se, they only told _half-_truths, or _certain points of views_. It was one of the limited things Sidious admired the rigid, pathetic Order for: their flawless ability to twist the truth to suit their purposes.

No. He was not a liar. Lies were for the uncivilised and unintelligent. With lies, one could get caught, for one lie spawned off several more to cover for the first one, and could never be kept track of. The truth was far more sophisticated.

_Of course I knew_, he'd told Kenobi. _He trusted me with many things._

Many things, but not _everything_. Anakin hadn't actually said anything of his marriage to Senator Amidala to the kindly Chancellor. Not that it had necessarily been the galaxy's best-kept secret or anything. Padmé Amidala had been his Queen. He had been her ambassador to the Senate. Naboo was his home. Palpatine had acquaintances among the civil clergy – Anakin's secret ceremony had never been a secret from _him_. He _knew_, and he had _always_ known. He had only pretended ignorance to spare Anakin discomfort in the hopes that one day, he would be able to spring this information on him and strengthen the bonds of trust.

Sadly, that plan was ruined when the boy inconsiderately let himself be burned to death in a space battle, but as Sidious always said: there was no point in letting valuable information go to waste.

_Of course I knew. He trusted me with many things_.

After all, he didn't actually say Anakin _told _him. Just that Anakin had trusted him.

He would have expected someone with Kenobi's reputation for intelligence to have picked up on that subtle twist of words, but grief, it was said, did strange things to people. Perhaps later Kenobi would realise. Or perhaps he would not – either way, it would give Sidious a much-needed insight into the Jedi Master's character, as well as simultaneously providing him with wonderful entertainment.

Reluctant as he was to admit it, he knew only the superficial about Obi-Wan Kenobi, and this was not acceptable – especially if Dooku sought (however futilely) to turn him to the darkness and claim the Jedi as an apprentice, to use him to one day overthrow Sidious. It paid well to know these things, and Sidious liked to make a point about being ignorant on _no_ subject, Jedi Masters included.

Sidious knew that Kenobi was a master of Soresu. He knew that Kenobi adhered to the Jedi Code. He knew that Kenobi despised politicians and politics, despite his flair for negotiation and diplomacy.

There was only one more thing Sidious knew with absolute certainty: Kenobi was nothing like Anakin. If Dooku wanted to seduce him to the dark side, he would receive no help from Sidious because Kenobi could not be seduced the same way as Anakin. Sidious doubted Kenobi would ever Fall. Anakin had far more brute strength in the Force than Kenobi and an unpredictable temper, and was deeply needy and forever in search of reassurance and ego-stroking. A benefit to Sidious, for the boy was gullible and open to manipulation. He had no self-control whatsoever; sweet-talk and playing on debilitating fears would have been the key to Anakin's fall.

But Kenobi, well… he was another realm altogether.

He wondered how Dooku would play this. It would be a difficult task, of course, but Sidious was always up for a good spot of theatre. Where Anakin had been an easy target, Kenobi was a conundrum and one that Sidious doubted Dooku had worked out just yet. Kenobi was a man of a thousand complexities and simplicities, everything and nothing at once. He was the ultimate Jedi, a beacon of the light.

_How much fun it would be_, Sidious thought offhandedly, _to twist such a fine specimen to our cause._

Long had Sidious wondered what Dooku saw in Obi-Wan Kenobi. It was true that while Dooku often had… _questionable_ tastes in apprentices, like Asajj Ventress, Obi-Wan Kenobi was, again, different. And he was very _determined_ to turn Kenobi, having pursued him consistently for more than five years now.

Such determination was not without reason or cause. Either Dooku was a sentimental old fool, as Kenobi's "Grand-Master", and was pursuing an impossible goal… or he saw something in Kenobi that Sidious had not.

Sidious highly doubted it was the latter, because up until this very moment neither of them had truly seen Kenobi. Kenobi was a shield of light, a carefully worn mask that looked impossible to crack. But around that light swirled the agony of a man who had lost his brother and friend, a darkness that no-one, not the Order and certainly not Kenobi himself, knew existed. It was subtle, it was fleeting, but it was there.

_And you aren't even here to see it, my apprentice,_ Sidious thought. _I have Kenobi here before me at his weakest, and you'll never know._

He was, for just one moment, reminded of the HoloNet headline: _KENOBI ON HIS OWN!_

One moment was all that was needed, because it gave Sidious an idea. When Sidious had an _idea_, it was probably more accurate to describe it as _work of art in the making_, for Sidious did not just have mere _thoughts_ or _ideas_ or _contemplations_. He constructed _symphonies_ and _masterpieces_, all within moments of conception. Few would ever appreciate his designs as much as he did, but one could not have everything.

Kenobi _was_ on his own. Very, very alone, and still very much alive. Hardly surprising, of course. He had always been the more… _cautious_ of the Republic's Golden Team, so to speak, despite Sidious's attempts to have him _taken care_ of. As it was, Kenobi was infuriatingly _difficult_ to dispose of. A bad trait for one's enemy to possess.

But an invaluable trait for one's _ally_ to possess…

Perhaps it was a good thing after all that the Jedi Master was so good at living.

_You seek to overthrow me with Kenobi as your apprentice, Dooku_, Sidious thought. _But what would you do, I wonder, if I made him mine first?_

The Togruta girl was high on his list as potential replacement apprentices, it was true, but she was on the other side of the galaxy and didn't seem to be worth the effort. Not when he had Kenobi, _right here_.

Kenobi was no Skywalker – no Chosen One – but he was powerful enough, young enough. It would be difficult, Sidious knew, but if he played it correctly (and he always did), it would be well worth the effort; not only to stop Dooku from gaining an apprentice, but to replace Dooku himself with the very person wanted as _his_.

Oh, yes, he was amusing himself greatly with this.

With the right persuading, it might be possible to turn Kenobi… if only he could find his weakness.

Everyone, Sidious knew, had a weakness. Anakin's was his fear, a poison that rotted him from the inside out with every breath he took. Darth Plagueis's had been his overconfidence, his narrow-sightedness – his inability to see past the end of his nose. The Jedi Order's was their refusal to change with the times, reliance on outdated codes and dismissal of human nature – much to Sidious's benefit. Dooku's was his inflated ego – too sure of himself to see that his usefulness was almost expired, to cocky to remember one crucial detail that was to be his downfall.

But what was Kenobi's weakness?

Palpatine watched Kenobi weep for what seemed like hours on end, occasionally handing him a tissue and patting his shoulder awkwardly like a politician, while Sidious pondered. Anakin, without a doubt, was a weakness of the Jedi Master – he cared too deeply for him, and was as human as anyone else. Not as human as Anakin, whose volatile personality paved the path for easy manipulation, but human enough. Human in a _different_ way.

Only one thing could make the calm, resolute Jedi Master fall to pieces before a man he held in little esteem. Kenobi loved. He loved as deeply as Anakin had loved, though far more wisely and far less selfishly. More to the point, what Palpatine had said was true: despite all of the flaws in Anakin's personality, Kenobi loved him as a father loved his son, as a brother loved his brother. Loved him enough to break down in front of a man whom he had made it no secret he disliked.

Nonetheless, Sidious was pleased with himself for breaching that initial barrier of dislike between them, and it had taken nothing but the truth, the pure, untwisted truth to break it.

_But despite that, you still loved him, didn't you, Master Kenobi? You loved him._

Too easy. Far too easy. To think, all he originally wanted to do was make Kenobi suffer and watch on with glee, when in fact what he had _truly_ done was make the Jedi Master break and reveal his carefully hidden self.

Always ten steps ahead, even when he did not know it…

And yet, Anakin's death could not be used on its own, for Kenobi was letting him go even as Palpatine comforted him and Sidious plotted. This opportunity was slipping through his fingers like running water – Kenobi was allowing himself to grieve, and finally accept Anakin's death and faults and release it all into the Force like the good Jedi Master and slave to the Light he was. Even now Kenobi's sobs were slowly starting to subside. No, Anakin was not to be the chosen vessel to Kenobi's descent into Darkness, even though he had been the Chosen One (and Sidious silently chortled at his pun). The ship, so to speak, had made the jump to hyperspace and there was no point in wasting energy giving futile pursuit.

Once more, Sidious thought with irritation, Anakin managed to mess up his plans. It was as though being dead simply wasn't _enough_ for the selfish boy.

But there was still much potential. He just needed to find out what made Kenobi tick, what he lived for, what he fought for. There would residual anger and hurt, survivor's guilt and insecurities which he could use to warp the memory of the boy, but aside from that there would need to be something bigger, something far greater, to bring about Kenobi's fall.

_But what?_ the Darkness hissed.

Sidious sighed internally as Palpatine dabbed his own watery eyes with a tissue. This was all looking to be a bit more complex than he'd initially thought, but if he had judged the situation correctly (which he had) – if he was following his instincts properly (which he was) – then it would be worth it in the end. Already he was ahead of whatever game Dooku hoped to play, and he did need a new apprentice. He hadn't made a mistake, for Darth Sidious did not commit such inane things as _mistakes_ – he'd only _slightly miscalculated_ the situation, and _slight miscalculations_ were easily rectified. He would need to spend time with Kenobi, that was all.

Anakin's death had not been completely in vain, after all. What could be better at bringing together two rivals than the loss of a mutual loved one?

There was something quite _delightful_ about it all. Something so _satisfying_ in the thought of turning the Order's finest Jedi Master into the Order's greatest enemy.

Anakin Skywalker was dead. Obi-Wan Kenobi was alive.

And Sidious was nothing if not adaptable.

He allowed himself a smile. Patience was his virtue; time, his ally. Galactic domination was going nowhere; that could be achieved with or without Anakin, with or without Dooku, and with or without Kenobi. Nevertheless, he was pleased with the beginnings of his latest masterpiece, and he paused to admire the handprint, red and raw, flourishing on Kenobi's face.

He'd wanted to do that for a while.


	6. Don't Apologise

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**CHASING REDEMPTION**

– Chapter Five –  
Don't Apologise

The first thing Obi-Wan became aware of was that someone was patting him on the shoulder. Strange, he thought, and wondered where he was and why his eyes were blurry and cheeks were wet. The second thing he realised was that he was sitting down – even stranger, because he had been sure he had been standing up when – when –

_Oh._

More tears spilled down his cheeks, and he realised that he was clutching a tissue in his hand tight enough that his fingernails were almost drawing blood on his palm. Crumpled up, soggy, and utterly ruined, Obi-Wan still brought the miserable tissue up to his face and wiped away the wetness. That person was still patting his shoulder

Anakin was dead, and this time it was real.

_Oh, Anakin, Anakin –_

Another sob caught in his throat as he tried to stand. He was pushed back gently into the chair.

"There, now, Master Kenobi – think it would be prudent if you stayed seated yet."

That smooth, lilted voice infiltrated the haze.

_Palpatine? Oh, blast…_

He couldn't even remember how he'd gotten there, and he'd just… oh, Force. How embarrassing.

"How do you feel?"

The soft prompt made Obi-Wan open his mouth to instinctively say, _I'm fine_, but the lie wouldn't form. It hurt his throat to speak. "Would you like the truth, or what I'd planned on telling you?" he managed to croak out, managing to weave his trademark dry drawl into the question.

Above him, he felt rather than saw Palpatine's mouth curve upwards. "If what you'd planned on telling me was that you are fine, I would not believe you anyway." Palpatine's eyes glinted in slight amusement. "The truth would be nice."

"Truthfully, Chancellor, I'm feeling rather wretched at the moment," he said, and willed back another wave of tears.

"It is only to be expected," Palpatine said gently. "Anakin's death has affected us all very deeply."

Obi-Wan felt his throat close up again, and let the silence bring back his awareness. His right cheek throbbed painfully, and Obi-Wan winced and pressed a hand to the tender flesh. "You hit me."

He sounded dazed to his own ears. Palpatine, at least, had the grace to look embarrassed. "Yes, well, I am terribly sorry, Master Kenobi, but you –"

To his own surprise and against his will, Obi-Wan felt the corners of his lips curve upwards a little and let his hand fall from his stinging face. "It's all right, Chancellor. I think… I think I needed it. Though it occurs to me that you're wasted in the Senate, with a blow like that," he added dryly. "You could have made a killing in the ring."

"Yes, that's what my last would-be assassin told me as well," Palpatine agreed thoughtfully, and despite his efforts Obi-Wan found himself smiling.

"I feel I must apologise, Chancellor, for my… display, just now –"

"Master Kenobi," Palpatine interrupted quickly, his eyebrows drawn into a frown, "before you provide an unnecessary apology, please be honest with me: was that the first time you have cried since Anakin passed on?"

Obi-Wan blinked, and felt his hand clench instinctively around the sodden tissue again. Palpatine eyed him evenly, caringly, and the gentle tone of his voice struck Obi-Wan with that inexplicable need to tell him that yes, it was the first time he'd cried since Anakin died, the first time he'd actually _felt_ it, but Obi-Wan stayed silent and pretended to be lost in memory.

Obi-Wan was not an idiot, despite his emotional upheaval. Under the mask of sorrow, Palpatine was studying him carefully – saying, as his reputation exemplified, little. It was a form of art the Chancellor demonstrated well, and no doubt served him in his access to power: his ability to listen, and to be a confidant for others.

Little wonder as to why Anakin admired the man so, and found it so easy to talk to him and share secrets he could not trust Obi-Wan with. The boy had never been a good communicator of his feelings once he reached a certain age, or perhaps it was Obi-Wan who was never a good listener when it came to his wayward former Padawan, and Anakin just stopped trying…

The thoughts made his chest tighten, and he tried to return back to the topic, feeling the all-too familiar prick of tears again. It wasn't just the first time he'd allowed himself to grieve for the boy who had been his brother and son; it was the first time he'd cried at all in a very long time, longer than he cared to remember. But why should that matter to Palpatine? Had it been any other person asking, Obi-Wan would have known it to be concern. With Palpatine, he couldn't be sure whether he was being altruistic, or if he had an angle.

Obi-Wan almost scoffed. Of course he had an angle. He was, after all, a politician, and a very clever one at that.

"You should not apologise for being human," Palpatine continued softly, taking Obi-Wan's silence as grieving contemplation. His timbre was soothing, and for a moment Obi-Wan almost believed him.

"I am a Jedi, Chancellor. I should not have allowed my emotions to overcome me."

"Even when the boy you virtually raised dies long before his time?"

When Obi-Wan stayed silent for the second time, it was because his negotiation skills abandoned him in a swift second at the harsh reminder.

Palpatine shook his head and turned away to the drink cabinet. "I have never truly understood your Order, Master Kenobi, but to the commoner it sounds positively brutal."

_It is_, Obi-Wan thought before he could stop himself, but instead said, "Perhaps so, but it is necessary. Emotions of grief and loss and anger are pathways to the Dark Side," he recited.

"Hmm." Palpatine poured two glasses of ice-cool water and handed one to Obi-Wan, who thanked him. "Is that what you believe, or just what your Code dictates?"

Obi-Wan remembered why he disliked this man in an instant. For all his ignorance of the Jedi Order and the Force, he was far too astute for his own good.

_There is no emotion._

The Code was his life. It had been taught to him since infancy and he continued to put faith in it. Of course he believed in it.

_There is no death._

But despite what the Code dictated, there _was_ emotion, and despite how easy it was for Yoda to say that Anakin was one with the Force and Obi-Wan should not miss him or mourn him, it didn't change the fact that Anakin _was_ dead.

"The Code is all I have known my entire life," he said neutrally, half hoping for that to be the end of that line of questioning, half hoping to convince himself of what he preached, and took a sip of the water to let the cold soothe the fire burning in his chest. And yet, the Chancellor was smiling faintly, as though he was silently telling Obi-Wan that he knew his secret, and that he would keep it.

Obi-Wan didn't know whether to be comforted or disturbed.

"Master Kenobi… where were you when Anakin…?"

_Died._

Obi-Wan swallowed the lump in his throat. "I was…" he croaked, then cleared his throat. "I was pursuing Asajj Ventress."

"But that's not possible, Anakin himself told me he killed her only months ago! You believe she lives?"

_Yes. _"I did."

"_Why_ were you chasing after her? I don't understand."

"Closure," he said shortly. "Nothing more."

Palpatine stared at him sadly, his eyes strained with the knowledge of a too-perceptive man. _Then Anakin's death was in vain?_ they seemed to say, and Obi-Wan placed his empty glass back onto the desk with a little more Force than absolutely necessary.

_No_, his insisted. _It wasn't. It can't have been. I was sure, I was so sure…_

"I ought to take my leave, Chancellor," Obi-Wan said abruptly. _Don't think about that. Don't. Get out of here._ "Thank you, for your time."

He bowed swiftly and turned, intent on departing before he could make even more of a fool of himself, but Palpatine's voice stopped him.

"Master Kenobi – wait." Obi-Wan froze and turned back. "I know we have never gotten along very well, but Anakin was very dear to both of us. I understand what you are going through. Jedi or no, you are still first and foremost a man who has lost someone very close to him. If you ever need anything, please do not hesitate to ask me."

He was startled. He had hardly expected _that_. "I dare not impose upon you, Your Excellency –"

"You will not, I assure you," Palpatine said quickly. Something in his stance and words, almost desperate, penetrated Obi-Wan, and he suspected that Palpatine's motives were not purely selfless. Anakin was more than just the young boy the Chancellor mentored – Anakin had been like the innocent nephew or grandson who had kept him company in his lonely world of vicious politics, just as Anakin had kept Obi-Wan company in his lonely world of despair after Qui-Gon's death. Palpatine _wanted_ company, to help him in the aftermath of Anakin's death.

What surprised Obi-Wan most was that he wanted company as well – he just wasn't sure whether the company he wanted was from _Palpatine._

Still, he needed to say something. "Anakin, he –" Obi-Wan broke off and collected himself. "You were very important to him, Chancellor." It took a lot of effort for Obi-Wan to make himself say that.

"As he was to me," Palpatine said, his voice strained. This, at least, Palpatine was genuine about, and the older man took a seat with surprising grace. Frowning deeply and projecting the troubles and grief of a burdened man, he rubbed his forehead. "There was no body, was there, Master Kenobi."

"No," Obi-Wan said, and felt his stomach lurch, "no, there was not."

"But… surely they would have found _something_."

_They did._

"It doesn't make sense, to find enough of the fighter pilot's remains and the black box and yet find no trace of…" Palpatine shook his head. "Star's end, listen to me, clinging to any tendril of hope that…"

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. _Don't. Don't do this to me. Not when I've just let him go, don't make me think that as well._

The Chancellor's voice hitched a little as he struggled to hold back tears, and something akin to pity, or even sympathy and understanding, came over Obi-Wan. In one moment, the differences between the two men disappeared and Obi-Wan stepped forwards to place his hand on Palpatine's shoulder. Palpatine was not the Chancellor for that second; he wasn't even a politician. He was simply Anakin's other mentor, a man who had lost a son-like figure, a boy he had loved, just Obi-Wan. Palpatine shook a little and blinked back the tears which made his troubled eyes glisten.

After what seemed a lifetime, the moment passed and Obi-Wan withdrew his hand, feeling awkward. Palpatine reached for another tissue, giving Obi-Wan the opportunity to say goodbye again.

"Master Kenobi, do keep in mind my offer," the Chancellor said. "If you ever need anything…"

Obi-Wan was not accustomed to accepting help of any kind, least of all from the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, but he found himself smiling sadly and thanking Palpatine. It felt nice, he thought absently as he left the Senate and returned to his speeder, that someone was holding out a hand for him.


	7. Don't Surrender

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**CHASING REDEMPTION**

– Chapter Six –  
Don't Surrender

Returning to the Temple after curfew undetected was nigh impossible when Mace Windu was on patrol. Obi-Wan had discovered this the hard way as a Padawan learner, one night sneaking back in after a dare set by Quinlan Vos, and the results had not been amusing. Fortunately being a Jedi Master, and a member of the Council, afforded him some leeway when it came to curfew and was caught by Mace returning to the Temple after his discussion with the Chancellor.

"Obi-Wan, there you are. I've been searching all ov- what is that?" Mace interrupted himself, pointing at Obi-Wan's face.

_Oh_, Obi-Wan thought, and gingerly touched the inflamed cheek. "It's nothing, Mace."

"Someone obviously hit you. I don't think that constitutes as 'nothing'. Who and why?" Mace narrowed his eyes. "You didn't get into a bar fight, did you?"

"Does that really seem like something I'd do, Mace?" Obi-Wan said, shaking his head. "Perhaps if I told you the Supreme Chancellor slapped me because I was experiencing an emotional breakdown, would you believe me?"

Mace's face darkened, not amused. "If you can't be serious about this –"

_No, I didn't think you would_, Obi-Wan thought as Mace broke off again and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look," Mace said. "You are going through a difficult time and I can appreciate that. Perhaps you should take a leave of absence. You know, just take a few weeks to come to terms with everything."

"That is very kind of you to offer, Mace, but I cannot in good conscience take time for myself at this stage in the war. The Republic and the Order need me."

"You misunderstand me. It was not a suggestion or a request. It was an order. You are not to return to the field for at least a month."

"Mace –"

"It is non-negotiable, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan resisted the urge to shoot Mace an immature dirty glare. "I see."

Mace sighed heavily again. "I am sorry, Obi-Wan, but we believe it'll be the best thing for you."

Presumably "_we_" had been the Council, or at the very least Yoda. Obi-Wan was too tired to argue back. "Fine," he said shortly.

"You ought to get some rest, Obi-Wan. The ceremony is tomorrow. Do you…"

"Do I have something to place on the pyre?" Obi-Wan continued for him when Mace tactfully suspended the question, then shook his head. "He had little designed for cremation. I can only think of that robe of his that he wore all around the Temple…" Anakin had been terribly fond of one of the few robes he managed to salvage from the Battle of Romenay. It was worn and just about ripped to shreds, horribly ratty, but he wore it with pride around the apartment as a reminder that he'd survived, and won, yet another battle.

Ironic, then, that after surviving three brutal years of war it was destined to represent his passing…

"Yes, the robe," he decided, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Since there is nothing else actually… left… of him." He shoved his hands into the sleeves of his robe. "Durasteel is hardly crematory material. But, if I may ask, Mace… who was it, who recovered the black box and the durasteel arm?"

Mace was frowning deeply by this point, probably debating whether or not Obi-Wan could handle the information. Obi-Wan didn't appreciate being treated like glass and was about to say so, in much politer terms, but Mace must have decided that Obi-Wan was in a sounder mental place than he appeared to be and finally answered: "Quinlan Vos. He'll be returning to the Temple in a few weeks."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Thank you."

"Take it easy. The ceremony begins at sundown tomorrow. Go get some rest."

* * *

Six days after Anakin Skywalker's death, the ceremony was held.

It was a quiet, sombre occasion – and even though the HoloNet press was expressively forbidden entry to the Temple out of respect for the Republic's fallen hero, the gathering was large. Every Jedi still in the Temple paid their respects around the symbolic pyre, where there rested no body.

It was surreal. On the pyre, Obi-Wan had laid out the ragged material of a much-loved robe, but it felt like he was experiencing everything from afar. It wasn't him who lit the pyre and watched the robe catch alight, flames licking at the cloth. It wasn't him who silently accepted his friends' and fellow Masters' consolations. It wasn't him who held back the tears he so longed to cry, or noticed Padmé sobbing off to the side but didn't go over. It wasn't even him who tugged his own robe closer around his body, suddenly chilled. It was another man, the perfect Jedi, the man Yoda and Mace and the rest of the Council expected him to be. Emotionless.

_There is no death; there is the Force._

Behind that cold façade of a man, Obi-Wan Kenobi wept for the boy who had been closer than a brother, more dear than a son. The heat of the crematory fires superficially warmed him; nothing could penetrate the cold ashes that settled within his heart.

It was hours before he spoke – when everyone departed, leaving him to watch the fires crackle with less intensity than before.

"You were the Chosen One," he said, his lips barely moving. "It was said that you would destroy the Sith, not die before you had the chance. Bring balance to the Force, not leave it in darkness, when it needs you the most. You were my brother, Anakin. I…I loved you. I just wish…" _I just wish I'd had the chance to tell you that. I wish the Force had given us the chance._

"He knew, Master Kenobi."

Obi-Wan jumped at the intruder's voice, and honed by three years of war his hand instinctively jumped to his waist for his lightsaber, but calmed down quickly. "How long have you been listening?" he said disapprovingly, letting his hand fall.

The Chancellor gazed at him in sympathy. "Long enough."

"You had no right."

"I am sorry, it was unintentional."

Obi-Wan pressed his lips together. Of course it was intentional – everything the Chancellor had heard was probably being filed away right that moment in his calculating politician's for future reference, to be used against him when he least expected it, and _Force I'm being paranoid_. Though perhaps it was with good reason; listening in on private conversations and filing them away for future reference was something, Obi-Wan contemplated with a bit of a shudder, that he himself might have done if their positions were reversed. War changed people – not necessarily for the better.

The orange glow from Anakin's pyre illuminated the Chancellor's face when the older man watched the flames, entranced. "What do you think he would have done had he been in your position?" Palpatine mused sadly, his eyes unusually bright. If Obi-Wan looked closely enough, he could see every single flame reflected in the tired eyes.

"He…" Obi-Wan began. He wanted to claim Anakin would have done his duty and gone on to become the greatest Jedi ever known, but as much as Obi-Wan wanted to honour his fallen former Padawan, he found himself sighing. "He probably would have done the exact opposite of what I am doing. He would be refusing to accept my death, probably convinced I'm still alive and in need of aid. He would let his anger win over, hate the Council for refusing him to go on a fool's errand. He would have forsaken his duty and made it his life's ambition to track down my killer, once he accepted that I was dead, then take revenge. The exact thing a Jedi should not do."

He hated himself for even thinking it, because Anakin wasn't there to defend himself, but blast it, if it wasn't the truth Obi-Wan didn't know what was…

Palpatine was nodding in agreement, but he sounded taken aback when he asked, "You would not avenge Anakin's death?"

Obi-Wan exhaled loudly and let his shoulders drop, the tension stinging his muscles. "How can I? I do not know who shot him down, whether it was a man or a droid, and even if I did, what good would it achieve? I would accomplish nothing more than another murder in this already blackened galaxy and stain my own soul even more so than what it has endured, and my actions would not bring Anakin back."

Palpatine was silent for a few moments, no doubt realising that this was something Obi-Wan had evidently put a lot of thought into – trying, possibly, to convince himself of it. And, as usual, he was far too perceptive. "But _if_ you knew who Anakin's murderer was, what would you do?"

Obi-Wan didn't answer this time, not because he didn't know but because he was afraid of what the answer might be. It wasn't a stretch of the imagination; he remembered with startling vividness how he'd dealt with the being that struck Qui-Gon down.

Again, as if just _knowing_ what he was thinking, Palpatine's hand rested on his shoulder, as firm and as warm as Qui-Gon's would have been. The two men said nothing as they watched Anakin's symbolic pyre burn, as cruelly as his corporal body must have done, until eventually the flames died down and the corner they stood in was embraced by shadows.

* * *

That night, Obi-Wan returned to Padmé, and he didn't like what he saw.

Everything about her was lifeless. Her eyes were dead to the world, dull and emotionless – even her hair hung around her face like a knotted, inert mass, a far cry from its usual buoyancy. Gone was the vibrant, glowing young woman. This doppelganger was in a much worse position than the grieving widow had been only nights earlier.

"Padmé?"

"I can't just keep pretending every hour of every day that I'm fine because I'm not," she muttered dully to the question that was not spoken. "I want Anakin, Obi-Wan – I want him so much I don't think – I don't know how I can keep going without him. It feels like there's nothing left worth living for." She stared down at her hands, and Obi-Wan felt his mouth go dry. She sounded like someone on the verge of drowning in her own grief, and Force knew he had experienced plenty of that in his time. He needed to evoke an emotion out of her, any emotion – "How can I keep going? How can I –?"

Obi-Wan gave her a little shake by her bicep, his grip tight and his forehead creased into a dark frown. "Do not speak like that," he ordered. "Those are not the words of the woman I admire, or of the woman who ruled and saved her planet and grew to become one of the most revered Senators of this Republic. Those are the words of a woman who has given up. Have you given up, Padmé? Is that what this is about?"

She bowed her head and tears trickled out from beneath closed eyelashes, her silence answer enough. Anger too fast to release sparked inside him.

"Come to your senses! You are Padmé Amidala, and you _will_ keep going. You still have so much to live for. Your planet, this Republic – star's end, Padmé, think of your _child!_ Anakin's child!" Obi-Wan gazed at her levelly, perhaps a little coldly. "Or are you not the woman I thought you were?"

Her wide brown eyes flashed, affronted. "How _dare_ you –" she spluttered.

"I _dare_, Padmé, because you are my friend and – and my best friend's wife. You carry his child. I will _not_ allow you to throw up your hands and surrender. You think I don't know what you are going through? Force, I practically _raised_ Anakin! I loved him as my son, as my brother – you loved him as his wife, but so help me, Senator, I will not dishonour everything he lived for simply because I don't think I can't go on without him –"

She slapped him. The sound resonated about the room, crisp and violent, but Obi-Wan had been expecting it and rolled with the blow, absently noting that it was the _same cheek_ that had been struck barely a day prior.

Silence reigned, and Padmé gaped. "I'm sorry," she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in horror, "I'm so sorry –"

Obi-Wan ignored the sting and grasped her arms. "I will be here for you. It's all right, Padmé." She let herself fall into his embrace, and his arms clutched her tightly. "You will get through this," he vowed. "You will."

She nodded helplessly against his tunic, and he breathed a sigh of relief. They stayed that way for some time before, for the second time that week, he found himself carrying her to her bed, only to end up sharing it. Her tears slowed and eventually stopped as she drifted into semi-restful slumber, one hand resting over her abdomen where hers and Anakin's miracle lay safely ensconced in its mother's womb, innocent to the world of death and destruction and agony it was to be brought into in six months.

Obi-Wan watched her silently, his forehead still creased and his cheek stinging painfully. It seemed like his life's purpose was for him to clean up after everyone else. Qui-Gon's last words were for Anakin – Anakin, Obi-Wan was sure, would have had words only for Padmé.

_I will be here for you_.

He closed his eyes.

_And me? Who will be here for me?_

A fleeting image of Palpatine flashed in his mind which disappeared faster than it had happened. Obi-Wan scoffed and pushed the selfish plea away, releasing it into the Force, but couldn't stop Palpatine's words from echoing in his ears. _If you ever need anything, please do not hesitate to ask me…_

He shook his head, hardly believing that he was even _considering_ it, and rolled over, determined to escape into the safe arms of sleep.

* * *

You're flying. Funny, you think. You hate flying.

But you are good at it, and good is what you need to be when you are in battle. You pilot your small starfighter, confined by a too-small cockpit, the adrenalin of battle coursing through your veins. Ahead of you is that blasted Sep ship that's been irritating the Sithing hell out of you for hours on end, and the blue-domed utility droid beeps nervously from your left.

You smirk. "Aim for the left wing, Arto-" Your order is untimely broken off when you are jolted violently, tearing a panicked nonsensical scream from your throat. Oh kriff you're hit, you're _hit_ and oh Force you're losing control, fire, _fire _–

_Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan,_ your mind screams, but that's silly, why would you call for yourself –?

Then you realise: you are not Obi-Wan Kenobi. You are Anakin Skywalker. You have been hit in a space battle – _you_, the thought is so laughable that if _this isn't happening right now_ you'd laugh but it's a bit hard to laugh when the galaxy is tilting around you and your throat sears with a never-ending scream, and flames lick at your body, burning your flesh _oh Force it hurts, it hurts_ –

And as you are crashing towards the ground, your starfighter disintegrates around you and you are screaming for the man who has been your father and brother for fourteen years, but he isn't here, and Padmé, oh Padmé you can't die, this can't be the end, it can't you're dreaming, this isn't real, you're dreaming, wake up, wake up –

Obi-Wan jolted and his eyes snapped open, gasping loudly and drenched with cold sweat. It took him a moment to remember where he was, _who_ he was, and that it didn't happen like that, it was quick, he didn't suffer, he didn't, and his stomach churned. Throwing off the bedcovers, Obi-Wan leapt out of the bed and staggered towards the 'fresher, a hand pressed to his mouth, and he doubled over and heaved into the toilet bowl.

The acidic taste of bile burned his throat and filled his mouth as he choked, retching violently. The fire still scorched his skin and the galaxy was still spinning around him, blurring into a collision of death and eternity, and finally he was just gagging, shivering from the cold sweat. Someone's cool hands touched his damp back, rubbing him sleepily, and helped his shaking subside. Obi-Wan's gasps calmed as his lungs regained oxygen.

"I thought being sick was my job, since I am pregnant and all," Padmé muttered softly, the haze of sleep clouding her awareness. Her hands, gentle and soothing, stroked his hair and he closed his eyes, unconsciously leaning back into her touch.

"I am a compassionate man," Obi-Wan murmured weakly back, and Padmé laughed a little.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, thank you."

"What did you dream of?"

Telling Padmé that he'd dreamt of her husband's violent death was out of the question, so he shook his head and tried to stand up shakily. "I do not remember, which is probably for the best," he said, the lie coming to his lips far too easily for comfort. "Dreams –"

"– pass in time?" Padmé's eyes darkened. "I know. Anakin told me."

Obi-Wan said nothing as the toilet was flushed and he rinsed his mouth with cold water. He followed Padmé back to her bed where she lay down and turned to the side, facing away from him, for which he was grateful. The only sounds were her soft breathing and the constant stream of Coruscanti traffic humming outside the window, and it must have been minutes or even hours later that Obi-Wan whispered, "It was no less than what was told to me," and pulled his robe closer around his cold body.

But Padmé was already asleep and didn't hear him, and Obi-Wan sighed. Common sense told him to attempt the same, to pull the covers up and let sleep claim him, but every time he closed his eyes he saw Anakin hysterically writhing in his cramped cockpit, his durasteel arm thrashing about in search of an escape and screaming incoherently as the flames consumed his flesh –

Obi-Wan took a sharp breath and turned over restlessly, his hand clenching in the sheets that reeked of Anakin's presence, but didn't close his eyes again.

He didn't sleep again for the rest of the night.


	8. Don't Challenge

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**CHASING REDEMPTION**

– Chapter Seven –  
Don't Challenge

If Padmé could see how exhausted Obi-Wan was and the heavy the lines under his eyes from his restless night, she didn't say anything the next morning. Instead she extended an invitation for breakfast which he gratefully accepted, not quite ready to return to the Jedi Temple where there existed so many memories.

As expected, the morning was silent – a sound Obi-Wan was beginning to hate, but he wasn't sure whether he wanted to make small talk either. The food itself was unexciting but pleasant, and the weight of the previous night's surrender had lifted to reveal the undercurrent of hope. Padmé's hand frequently brushed over her abdomen where her child grew, her lips turning up in a gentle expression of contentment. The grief was still there, as raw as the day Obi-Wan confronted her about Anakin's Padawan braid, but her eyes were alive with her new purpose.

Obi-Wan smoothed down the wrinkles in his tunic, fervently wishing he'd had the common sense to not fall asleep in his clothes as Padmé took the plates back to the kitchen. He accompanied her there and dried the dishes while C-3PO puttered around in the background.

Finally her hand touched his sleeve and he turned to face her. "Will you be all right?" she asked, soapy water dripping off the plate she was holding.

His gaze softened. "Yes, my Lady, I will. Thank you," he said, taking the plate to dry it with the towel. When, he wondered, did it become so easy to lie?

Oblivious to this, Padmé allowed herself to smile for the first time since Obi-Wan had confronted her three days ago**, **and probably for the first time since she had received the brutal news. "Oh, Obi-Wan. I think we can do away with the formalities now, don't you?"

It would be a little strange to continue calling her 'Senator Amidala' and 'my Lady' after finding out his former Padawan was married to her**, **and had fathered her unborn child. And after sharing her bed, in the least sexual way possible, for two nights. "I believe we can, Padmé," he replied, and dried the last utensil before glancing at the chrono on the wall. He started. "Blast, I'm late –"

"Obi-Wan?"

"Council meeting. I have to –"

Padmé was already handing him his robe from where he'd slung it over the chair, and she seized the opportunity to grasp his hand tightly. "Thank you."

He clasped her hand similarly. "You needn't thank me, Padmé. Just take care of yourself. Would you like me to return tonight?"

"I don't want to be a bother –"

"You aren't, Padmé. I meant what I told you last night – I am here for you."

She smiled. "I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate that, Obi-Wan."

* * *

"Late, you are, Master Kenobi."

It was intended as an observation, not a condemnation, but Obi-Wan still felt like a disobedient Padawan standing before the circle of Jedi Masters**,** about to be scolded. He was horribly aware of how dishevelled he was, looking like he'd just come from one of Anakin's joy rides around the Coruscant lower levels. He cleared his throat and bowed deeply. "Forgive me, Masters. I had a… restless night."

How many times had Anakin given the same excuse when he turned up late for a briefing? Although now he was beginning to suspect that the 'restless nights' had less to do with nightmares and more to do with his wife…

"How difficult for you this has been, we understand, but see that happen again, this does not."

A light rebuke, but it was still embarrassing. "Yes, Master Yoda," Obi-Wan said, and was finally allowed to take his seat.

It was easier than before for him to concentrate during the meeting. Progress in the Outer Rim was going well, more concerns about the powers the Senate were sacrificing to Palpatine. The same, he supposed, as usual, but this time he participated and was given the task of devising a strategic siege plan for Bomis Koori IV – even though there was no way he'd be participating in the actual attack.

It was on the way back to his living quarters, which still bore the Kenobi/Skywalker plate even though Anakin was Knighted years ago, that he was stopped by a young messenger Padawan. "Master Kenobi?"

"Yes, Padawan."

"The – um – there's a message for you. From the Supreme Chancellor." The young girl held out the datapad nervously.

"Oh? Thank you," he replied, taking the datapad, and the girl disappeared quickly.

The message was a simple request for a private meeting, and Obi-Wan frowned. Usually it was Anakin who received these types of messages every ten days, and who accepted them with glee. Obi-Wan had never tried to actively stop it – after all, however much he distrusted Palpatine he was still Anakin's friend.

Perhaps Palpatine was just lonely, since Anakin's death. Being an autocratic-like Chancellor of the Republic couldn't be very good for one's social life. Besides, it wasn't as though Obi-Wan was _busy_ or anything, what with being forced on leave. Perhaps it would be behaviour most fitting of a Jedi – even one not exactly active in the field – to go offer company to a man tired of his solitary, if successful, life.

Yes, it would be quite kind of him to do that, decided Obi-Wan, and he hurried to see that he was fit to make an appearance before the Republic's leader.

* * *

Palpatine was, at his core, a politician. Obi-Wan observed carefully over the years that the Chancellor was very clever and subtle at following the passions and prejudices of the Senators, at the same time earning their trust with his smooth tongue as easily as picking berries off a tree with fine, aristocratic hands; the Senate was his, like hundreds of berries gathered in a basket.

It would be admirable, were it not so disturbing.

Anakin's voice defended the Chancellor in his mind, as clearly as if he were there beside Obi-Wan. _He's not a bad man – he's a great man, who's holding this Republic together with his bare hands._

Obi-Wan hid a scowl. Anakin had been far too naïve to truly see his friend. _By staying in office long after his term has expired,_ Obi-Wan would have countered_. By gathering dictatorial powers._

Nevertheless, it was difficult to be stand before the man who had witnessed him burst into tears – and slapped him – with dignity. "How may I be of service, Your Excellency?"

"I am simply concerned for your wellbeing. Yesterday was no doubt very difficult for you."

Politician as he was, Palpatine was still a man, his own pain reflected in his eyes. "As it was for you, sir," Obi-Wan responded in kind.

"I have heard that you are on leave."

"Of a sort." It occurred to him to wonder how the Chancellor had found out so quickly, but the information wasn't exactly hidden. It was possible –no, it was _likely_; there was no other way that a man without inside connections to the Jedi could have found out – that the Chancellor had requested to see his mission file after yesterday's discussion, and had seen the note that was undoubtedly added."It is only for a month that I am not to actively involve myself in battle – I will continue with strategic planning and my participation in Order and Republic affairs. It's not a holiday, Your Excellency."

"I did not imply it was. You need the time, if I may say."

"While others risk their lives daily? I am not the only one to have lost someone close to him."

"Those, Master Kenobi, are the words of a Jedi."

"Well, I'm very sorry to be the one to break it to you, Chancellor, but I _am_ a Jedi."

"You are also a man," Palpatine reminded him, and Obi-Wan nearly frowned at having his own thoughts of Palpatine turned against him. Palpatine gestured towards his smaller, private office. "Though here I feel I must confess that my motives are not singular."

"Chancellor, I'd be shocked if they were."

Palpatine took this in good humour and laughed as he led them through, closing the door behind him, then swiftly moved around to his desk. "I wish to share something with you," he said, opening the drawer. "Anakin often played against me, but he was… well, his upbringing on Tatooine left something to be desired, and he was never very good at intellectual strategy. Still, it was an enjoyable pastime, and I haven't had the chance to look upon this board since the war began."

Palpatine placed something on the desk, and Obi-Wan recognised it immediately. The last time he'd seen a chess set had been long before the war started – frequent bloodshed and constant travel left little time for such luxuries as playing chess. The Chancellor's set was carved from fine Alderaanian wood, and was beautiful in its simplicity.

"I have not seen a chess set for many years," Obi-Wan commented appreciatively, picking up one of the hand-carved wooden pieces to admire it.

Palpatine smiled sagely. "Traditional chess is tragically becoming increasingly rare. Holochess has taken over, but I have always preferred the elegance and sophistication of a time-honoured set."

"Likewise."

The Chancellor's eyebrows rose. "Even rarer to find someone who is familiar with all of the rules…"

Against his will, Obi-Wan laughed a bit. "You needn't ask that of me, Chancellor."

Palpatine's eyes gleamed. "I don't suppose you'd care for a game then, Master Kenobi?"

The challenge hung in the air, and Obi-Wan grasped it. "Now that you mention it, Your Excellency, I rather would."

"White or black?"

"Black, please."

Evidently this startled Palpatine. "You surprise me, Master Kenobi. I would have thought you'd go for white – Jedi and the light side and all that."

Obi-Wan smiled evenly and took a seat. "They're just pieces, Chancellor," he said, and Palpatine opened the game. Which was true – they weren't even coloured black and white. Obi-Wan's pieces were dark brown, a rich oak colour, whereas Palpatine's were light brown. White simply referred to the person who moved first; black, the second.

Many preferred the first move; there was a thriving debate amongst professional chess players in the galaxy that had existed since the game's formation, about whether playing white gave the player a significant advantage. Certainly, statistical analyses showed that white scored better at most levels of play with their margin increasing as the standard improved. But Obi-Wan had never been one to rush in headfirst, content with the silent knowledge that the general perception of white having the advantage was founded more in psychology than reality. Playing black, he could observe his opponent's moves, their motives, first – they set the game but he adapted to it, spotted their weaknesses and used them against the player, much like his lightsaber form Soresu. He was a patient man – there was no need to rush the game, as Anakin always used to. It was a game of complete information, and black's information was always greater – by one move.

Already he knew that Palpatine was clever, subtle, and devastating. Not afraid of taking risks or sacrificing pieces, he was a long-term strategist and his tactics were difficult to uncover, so much so that within the first few minutes Obi-Wan had already lost five pawns, a knight, and one of his bishops. Palpatine was, evidently, a dictator in the Senate and a dictator of the chess board.

It had been many years since Obi-Wan last played. Chess was not so much a passion of his as it was a love, though a seldom-sated one at that. As Palpatine was no doubt aware, Anakin had been terrible at chess and it had been no fun playing against him as the boy usually ended up trying to attack the board with his lightsaber in frustration rather than actually playing. After that last incident seven years ago, Obi-Wan confiscated the set and never let Anakin near it again.

It had been too long since Obi-Wan had an opponent so skilled. Not that he was surprised that the politician played as though he mastered the board – chess, in a manner of thinking, was nothing more than the physical representation of the Senate. The Chancellor was a cultured man, on equal par with the Mon Calamari, possibly even better.

Palpatine offered a knight in what Obi-Wan observed to be a sacrifice, which he ignored, instead castling long to bring out his rook and protect his king from the barely formed strategy Palpatine had started to set in place. A ripple of suppressed annoyance flashed in the Force, prompting Obi-Wan to keep a passive poker face.

But despite his enthralment, the game was little more than a distraction, allowing him to throw his entire mindset into it so he wouldn't have to think about Anakin, even though it didn't completely stop the pain.

Although he accepted Anakin's death and the fact that he was never going to come back, it still hurt. The connection had been strong – almost as powerful, if not more so, than Obi-Wan's with Qui-Gon. The bond had never been dissolved. The pain was almost physical, though Obi-Wan still wasn't sure what marred him more: the fact that Anakin was gone, or the fact that Obi-Wan wasn't someone he felt he could trust.

"I must say, Senator Amidala is holding together better than I'd expected, the poor girl," Palpatine sighed mid-play.

Obi-Wan 'hmmed', annoyed by the interruption**, **and then briefly looked up from the game, something occurring to him. "When did Anakin tell you about his marriage to Senator Amidala?"

The Chancellor was quiet for a few moments as he decided where to move his queen, and kept his eyes on the board. "I found out soon after the ceremony took place, just after the Battle of Geonosis."

Obi-Wan nodded. Yes, that made sense, he considered, feeling only a little resentful. He bit back a sigh and released his emotions into the Force – resentment had no place in a Jedi's life. It made sense, he rationalised again without the attitude, because Anakin trusted Palpatine implicitly and would have told him as soon as possible.

And, there was a small opening just _there_, not the best but –

– _Wait._

Obi-Wan's hand froze, his finger touching the rook he was about to move. The piece beneath his fingers suddenly felt cold, and at a deeper glance he realised what a terrible mistake he had been about to make. He had allowed himself to be distracted by Anakin, and judging by the smugness radiating outwards from the Chancellor, his opponent knew it only too well. He was being played. He felt like a fly, being led directly into the spider's web.

And how close he had come to being ensnared. Attachment, as always, proved to be his enemy, and Palpatine was all too aware of it.

_You will not play me as you play your political pawns, Chancellor. This game is mine._

Anakin was pushed to the back of his mind. "_J'adoube_," Obi-Wan muttered, and merely adjusted the rook on its square before retracting his hand. Palpatine raised an eyebrow.

Although technically not cheating, it was the closest Obi-Wan would ever get to it. The announcement '_j'adoube_' was intragalactically recognised by chess players as announcing the intent to make incidental contact with a piece, without being required to move it, though the phrase was frequently misused to cover a blunder usually forced by the touch-move rule.

Any other time Obi-Wan would have felt deplorable using it, but more than one could play a game of deception and distraction. War involved dirty play – something he'd learned very quickly after Geonosis. And what was chess, if not a war? _Concentrate on the game. Here. Now._ He did not need to use the Force to see how this game might end. He didn't need the Force at all: the pieces already seemed to be playing themselves, his strategist's mind calculating two, three moves ahead –

_Ah._

Obi-Wan almost smiled.

_Mate in three._

He moved his queen instead, directly into the ruthless battle to put Palpatine's king in check, and the dismissed pawn remained unmoved.

_Two_.

Because of that move, the Chancellor was almost completely out of options. Although he was far ahead in material by a considerable margin – queen, both rooks, both bishops and a knight to Obi-Wan's – it would not help him and the man knew it. His only alternative was to swiftly seize the offending queen with his remaining knight – thereby leaving him with no choice _but_ to expose his king.

_And_…

Obi-Wan moved his bishop and forced mate. The white king was trapped by his own pieces in conjunction with Obi-Wan's few remaining ones, and the Jedi Master finally allowed himself a small smile and sat back.

"Checkmate."

He would be lying to himself if he claimed he felt no satisfaction, but no matter how justifiably proud of himself he was, Obi-Wan was not a gloater and always won with respect. He simply extended his hand over the board.

Palpatine, it seemed, was a graceful loser – though inside, was probably raging. He hid his emotions well, controlled them immaculately. He absently shook Obi-Wan's hand, his eyes dancing over the board to try and pinpoint the exact moment he had gone wrong. It had not been Obi-Wan's _j'adoube_ –any good player could have recovered from that. Whatever went wrong for him – or right for Obi-Wan – happened much, much earlier.

"Spectacular game, Master Kenobi," Palpatine congratulated. "I have not had an opponent so worthy since my childhood. Yes… very good game."

Obi-Wan nodded and stood, taking note of the time. With a small degree of shock he realised he'd been playing for over three hours. "Thank you for your time, Chancellor. I will not intrude on you for any longer."

"Master Kenobi!" Palpatine's voice rang out behind him. Obi-Wan turned. "I have not lost a game since I was twenty-three."

There was something inappropriately amusing in imagining the aged Chancellor as a young man. "I did not cheat, if that is what you are implying, Chancellor."

_Technically_ didn't cheat, at any rate.

"Cheat?" Palpatine smirked knowingly. "Good heavens, no – I am enquiring as to whether you would like to play another game sometime. Perhaps next week, after the scheduled meeting with the Jedi Council?"

The challenge was the light reflected in his eyes, and Obi-Wan could only imagine how his eyes looked in response. "That should suffice, Your Excellency. I look forward to it."

Surprisingly, it was not a lie.


	9. Don't Assume

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**CHASING REDEMPTION**

– Chapter Eight –  
Don't Assume

He'd won.

Kenobi had _won_.

The façade of Éamon Palpatine was as calm and collected as always – nothing existed on the surface to even hint at the storm raging inside. Kenobi's sneaky win infuriated Sidious as much as it intrigued him, and he immediately made a note to play chess with the Jedi Master as often as possible. What he'd said had been true – he _hadn't_ lost a game since he was twenty-three. The closest worthy opponent he'd faced in recent years was Dooku, and that became boring several decades ago.

The fact was, the game gave him a much-needed and valuable insight into his new apprentice's mind – and he desperately wanted to win the next round. Kenobi was a worthy contemporary, and it was… not _nice_, because Sidious didn't do 'nice', but _satisfying_, to finally play against someone who was actually worth his time, and worth beating in the future, since that was what he intended to do when Kenobi came back in a few days' time for another round.

The chess game posed many questions, but it revealed something far greater about the Jedi Master. Kenobi planned his defence carefully. There was a reason he was hailed as one of the greatest strategists the Republic had to offer, and now Sidious had first-hand proof. A lethal but subtle player, and extremely intelligent. Not unlike himself. The resemblance in style was uncanny; a pleasant revelation, as he didn't expect he'd have much in common with Kenobi by way of decision-making and values. There was, however, an important difference: Kenobi played as a Master of Soresu would.

Soresu was not Sidious's favoured style; he found it rather distasteful, actually, a waste of time since one could not win a battle using only defence, but there was an understated fascination in the way Kenobi handled it. For all that the Jedi prided themselves on traditions, Kenobi hadn't used Soresu as he had surely been taught to. It was a weapon in his hands, instead of merely being a means for survival or defence.

And his choice of pieces. Black, over white. Completely unexpected. As a strategist Kenobi was meant to be unpredictable, but Sidious had calculated him taking white for its own strategic superiority.

Simply assumed, in fact, and the Darkness hissed at him. If he listened closely, he could hear Plagueis laughing at him with that rasping, dry cackle of his. He remembered as a youthful apprentice to Plagueis one of his errors in assumptions, though admittedly the memory cut off some time during his punishment because Plagueis had been squeezing his throat and Sidious had lost consciousness, but at least the lesson stayed. Ironic, then, that the most painful lesson he'd learnt had been the one that his Master had forgotten, because, really, only idiots slept when there was a homicidal apprentice in the vicinity.

It had been pathetically easy to orchestrate: it ended with Plagueis being smothered by a pillow in his sleep. It was trumped only by Anakin's death, except Plagueis's death was _meant_ to be humiliating. Anakin just made an arse of himself. Both were as degrading as, say, being thrown down an elevator shaft. Sidious shook his head.

_You are wasting valuable time, Sidious_, the Darkness reminded him, and Sidious heeded his ally's advice. If there was anything that Plagueis and his own experiences had actually taught him, it was to keep his mind in the present and his goals for the future. And the present was Kenobi and the unique challenge of turning him over to the Dark Side before Dooku sunk his withering fingers into him that Sidious was currently being faced with.

Kenobi had chosen black on the chess board, fought defensively until the last moment, risked a technically not illegal _j'adoube_ for the sake of winning, and actually _won._ A move that had caught him completely by surprise – the precise thing he'd expected Kenobi to _not_ do. A reflection, no doubt, on his strategic superiority. It taught Sidious something else about his new apprentice, something more important than the fact that he was unpredictable. It taught him that Kenobi was not afraid to play dirty, to do what he needed to do to get what he wanted, so long as his actions did not compromise his personal morals.

_The end justifies the means_.

It was incredible – perfect, even. He'd found it. He'd found the first piece of the puzzle that was Kenobi's existence and meaning. It was silent, hiding, had gone unnoticed for years, but it was there, just waiting to be played with – and play with it, Sidious would. More than that, he would _dominate_ it.

Oh yes, Sidious chuckled to himself while Palpatine busied himself with organising another session in the Senate. Even though his task was complicated, this was so much more _fun_ than Anakin. The boy's fear was palpable and acquiescent but there had been no challenge. The boy had been powerful and passionate, ideal for manipulation, but altogether rather impatient and ill-suited to the game – after all, what else could one expect from a slave's upbringing on that dismal rock that had the impudence to call itself a planet in the Outer Rim? No, playing chess with the Chosen One was like trying to teach a Gamorrean how to eat with utensils.

That was harsh. For all of Anakin's faults, Sidious unexpectedly missed the boy's vibrant presence. Anakin _had_ been beautiful, in his own burning way. Kenobi, on the other hand, was subtle. A man of culture, like Sidious himself, and to an extent like Dooku. Count Dooku was what Obi-Wan Kenobi had the potential to be. Greater, even. Dooku was a trophy, mere bait; Anakin could have been his finest masterpiece. So what would that make Kenobi?

_Do not get ahead of yourself_, the Darkness reminded him, ever patient, ever generous, and Sidious folded his hands into his lap.

Kenobi was unremarkable in such a remarkable way; sure of his abilities but not cocky or overconfident, striving for perfection yet not pretending to be something he was not. So simple, and so complex. A total contradiction. How, he wondered, could it be possible for a man to be so intelligent and unconventional and so narrow-minded and conservative at the same time? How was it possible for him to be one thing, and yet another thing entirely – so perceptive in his game, yet so blind to his surroundings?

Light, and yet not a stranger to the Darkness. _The Sith Killer_, he remembered people used to call Kenobi all those years ago. The first Jedi in thousands of years to take down a Sith in combat; Sidious' apprentice at the time, the violent but uncultured Zabrak. Kenobi had cleaved Maul clean in half, using the _sai-tok_ technique. Very vicious for one so seemingly calm and collected.

_This will be enjoyable._

But there were other things than Obi-Wan Kenobi's future apprenticeship to Sidious at stake. Annoyingly, Dooku's poorly-concealed desires to usurp Sidious; and the dwindling morale of the Republic since Anakin Skywalker's unfortunate demise.

Everything seemed to be coming back to _that._ Hadn't the selfish brat hadn't messed up his plans enough _already?_ Battles were being lost to the CIS faster than that revolting little green troll on spice could bounce around a room. Spirits were low – not only had the Republic lost their poster boy, their Hero With No Fear; they had also temporarily lost their famed Negotiator, the other half of their Golden Team. Well, he would not be lost for long. Palpatine signed off on a new amendment to the Constitution, taking a moment to flex his strained politician's wrist, as Sidious mused. Granted, Republic victory wasn't _crucial_ for galactic domination, but things would run a lot smoother if it did happen that way. Violent takeovers were amusing, but dreadfully uncivilised.

Besides, getting Kenobi back on the field and boosting Republic morale again would be easy. Palpatine _was_, after all, the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic.

First matters first: Count Yan Dooku, who was well past his use-by date. Sidious contacted his elderly apprentice, who answered promptly.

_"Master."_ Dooku's holoimage bowed deeply. Sidious asked about inane tidbits of information he already knew, to lull Dooku into a false sense of complacency; questions about the war effort, the advancements of the CIS army, where he planned to attack next.

He eventually turned to the topic he wished to pursue. "And have you made progress with Kenobi, yet?" he asked, as if it was a passing thought of no consequence to occur to him.

Dooku shook his head._ "I've not yet had the opportunity, unfortunately."_

_Nor shall you have one._

_"I have considered contacting him privately, however, to express my condolences for Skywalker's passing."_

Ah. That could be… interesting. "Do as you please," Sidious said, as if he were entirely disinterested and merely indulging Dooku's pet project. He noticed the corner of Dooku's mouth twitch, as if in misplaced delight that his Master had no idea he planned to usurp him with Kenobi as his apprentice. Sidious dismissed Dooku shortly after that and the wavering blue holoimage of the Count disappeared. He reclined in his chair, pressed the tips of his fingers together, and waited.


	10. Don't Trust

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**CHASING REDEMPTION**

– Chapter Nine –  
Don't Trust

You're flying.

It's not for leisure – rather by necessity, for duty – but it's no less exhilarating. Confined by a small cockpit, the adrenalin of battle courses through your veins, your eyes swiftly locating that blasted Sep starfighter that's been irritating the Sithing hell out of you for hours on end. It's in range, and Artoo beeps and whistles nervously from your left.

You smirk in response. _Too easy_. "Aim for the left wing, Arto–"

A violent jolt halts your order, instead tearing a panicked nonsensical scream from your throat as you realise straight away what it was _kriff you're hit you're hit _and oh Force you're losing control, it's hot, fire, _fire – you're burning –_

You, hit in a space battle, it's ridiculous. Almost funny you'd laugh if this isn't happening _right now_ – _Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan, help – _Obi-Wan will save you, just like he always does, he'll get you out of this, you won't die, sure he'll tease you for getting hit in the first place because you're supposed to be the best pilot in the galaxy, and you'll pout and sulk and then laugh about it later with him, but –

But Obi-Wan isn't here, and he can't help you. You're alone.

You feel like laughing or crying but it's a bit hard to do either when the galaxy is spinning around you, and your throat is burning, you think maybe you're screaming but you can't hear yourself, flames lick at your body, burning your flesh _oh Force it hurts, it hurts, help me, someone – _

The ground, that's the ground, why's it so close, _slow down slow down SLOW DOWN_ you can't slow down, the controls have been destroyed, your starfighter is disintegrating around you and you are still screaming for Obi-Wan _who isn't here_ and Padmé, Padmé, you can't die you can't you need to be there for her, this can't be it, it _won't _be it _brace for impact, BRACE, NOW, USE THE FORCE –_

With a jerk, Obi-Wan's eyes snapped open, reality rushing back in one swift moment. He choked on his breath, oxygen which had been deprived to Anakin flooding his lungs, and he shivered, once again finding himself covered in a cold sweat; yet somehow, even though his sleep clothes were damp, his skin prickled with the heat of flames crawling all over his body – Anakin's body – and his head swam as though he was still spiralling out of control.

_Not again._

Another dream. The same one, every night, since the one he'd first had on the night of Anakin's memorial service. Each night he'd jolted himself awake before the starfighter collided into the planet, and then stayed awake all through the night until morning, too shaken by the visions. Too scared to go back to sleep, fearful of reliving Anakin's last moments over and over again.

Padmé shifted beside him in her bed. Their bed, he supposed**,** would be the logical thing to call it, since he'd spend every night there for the past fifteen days. But he didn't really have any place there at all. Twenty days after Anakin's death, months since he'd been here, and the bed still reeked of his presence, tormenting Obi-Wan. As if the dreams weren't enough.

_Dreams pass in time. _He shook his head to himself. _No, Qui-Gon. They don't. Not this one._

Because it _wasn't_ a dream. Dreams he could have handled. Dreams he could let go of, because they were his own mind's creation. It was a memory. _Anakin's_ memory, the last thing he experienced when their bond was still active. The boy's terrified, pleading screams repeating in Obi-Wan's mind sparked the vision of him writhed hysterically in his disintegrating starfighter, durasteel arm lashing out in search of escape as the flames consumed him – Anakin had been calling for him as he died. Screaming for him, _begging_, expecting him to be there just as Obi-Wan always promised he would.

Only he hadn't been.

_Oh, Anakin… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…_

There was no answer. No cocky grin or eyebrow quirk, a seemingly careless _psh, stop apologising. I'm the Chosen One. Of course I'm fine._

Nothing left but his durasteel arm, Mace said. That's how terrible the crash was. His body – just gone.

Obi-Wan shuddered and pushed the covers off his damp and cold body. He wouldn't be going back to sleep again, but there were still five hours of the night to pass along. He padded through the bedroom silently, casting a glance back over to Padmé's sleeping figure to make sure he hadn't woken her, and grabbed his robe on the way, pulling it around his shivering form. It was wrong to be envious of her ability to sleep through the night without witnessing – _living_ – Anakin's death.

Others were beginning to notice. Mace, ever perceptive, did not hesitate to point out the lines of exhaustion around his eyes after the last Council meeting. Padmé watched him carefully in the mornings with a frown, wondering why he was always up earlier than she was and always asking if he'd slept well. He'd lie and say he had, because she didn't need to worry about him as well in her condition.

Obi-Wan stifled a yawn and rubbed his eyes, feeling them close on their own accord, but forced them back open a moment later. _No._ If he slept he would dream. He wasn't ready for that yet. The Force hummed around him disapprovingly, gently asking for him to release his emotions through meditation, something he hadn't done for a few days. If only it were so easy. There were emotions that were too strong to let go of completely. It had always been a problem Anakin had, even a problem _Obi-Wan_ had had when he was younger. Restraint was earned over the years and detachment became easier, but meditation wasn't going to help _this_.

_OBI-WAN, OBI-WAN _–

He flinched, then lowered his head and rested his elbows on his knees, running his fingers through his hair to grip the strands so tightly it almost hurt. The darkness of the room comforted him. He didn't think he could handle the intensity of the sun just yet, or the bright lights in Padmé's apartment. A Jedi was capable of lasting days without proper sleep, but those days were quickly wearing out and his body was doing all it could to remind him of that. He wanted to listen and obey, and just stretch out along the couch and let sleep claim him, but every time he closed his eyes he saw the galaxy and planet surface spiralling around him, obscured by the fire of Anakin's starfighter.

* * *

Padmé murmured a "Good morning," to him when she emerged from her room, soon after sunrise. Obi-Wan brewed tea for them both and sat with her, in comfortable silence, as they had become accustomed to these days.

"You didn't sleep again," she eventually said.

Obi-Wan looked up from his cup. "Did I disturb you last night?" he asked, suddenly guilty.

She shook her head. "No, but I can tell. You look worse every morning, Obi-Wan."

"It's the beard, isn't it."

She didn't find it amusing. "You're having nightmares, aren't you?"

Obi-Wan sipped his tea slowly, unable to meet Padmé's eyes. "Yes," he admitted, "but nightmares aren't unusual when there's a war on."

The trouble was that Padmé was a politician, and she was good at reading people. She was one of the most noble women Obi-Wan had ever met, one of the most genuine and selfless and honest-to-goodness _decent_ Senators around, true, but she still had the knowledge and skills of the political trade. She didn't buy his subtle evasion for a second. "Anakin used to have nightmares," she said pointedly.

"I am not Anakin."

"No," she agreed, "but you're unwell, Obi-Wan, and I think it'll do you good to talk. If not to me, then to the Jedi, or a friend. To _someone_."

He still didn't know how he could look Padmé in the eye and tell her that he wasn't dreaming, he was reliving Anakin's last moments over and over again. It wasn't that he didn't think she could handle it; he knew she could. It was that he didn't _want_ to. It seemed cruel.

He supposed he could tell Yoda, or Mace, or someone else on the Council he trusted, but their reaction (he suspected) would be to sympathise, then tell him to meditate and release his emotions into the Force.

"I will," he promised anyway. Padmé didn't look like she believed him, but reached over to kiss his cheek anyway and went over to the kitchen to make some breakfast. He followed her, because he didn't have any Council meetings to attend this morning and if he was on forced leave then he might as well take the time on his free mornings to indulge in trivial domesticities that were denied on the battlefield. Toast wasn't something Obi-Wan generally considered exciting, as he tended to make it because it was easy and not very messy, but the selection of Naboo jam spreads in Padmé's kitchen was a treat from the usual Jedi oatmeal and granola.

_No wonder Anakin never ate breakfast at the Temple_, he thought, sampling some of the orange marmalade spread, and said as much to Padmé, who laughed.

"I always wondered if it was for me or for the jams he had breakfast here more often than not," she joked. "Anakin's favourite was the shuura spread."

She blushed at that; Obi-Wan had to wonder if there was some hidden meaning about the fruit, but wasn't sure he wanted to know the specifics. Before he could say anything, his comm. link buzzed, signalling an incoming call. "Hmm," he murmured, unclipping the device from his utility belt. "I'm not expecting any calls this morning."

"The Council?" she asked, sipping her tea.

Obi-Wan frowned at the unregistered ID. "No," he said, and answered the call. "Kenobi."

"_Master Kenobi.__"_

Obi-Wan froze as the sound of the low, cultured tone came over his comm. link. Silence descended over the kitchen in Padmé's apartment, the air becoming tense, and Padmé stilled as well, her eyes widening. Obi-Wan stared at the comm. link, heart pounding heavily in his chest. "Count Dooku," he replied evenly, and smoothly flicked on the recording button. "How did you get my communication number?"

"_A friend acquired it for me._"

"How nice of them," Obi-Wan murmured.

_"I can be very persuasive."_

"I'm certain."

_"Have I called at an inopportune time?"_

Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed, even though Dooku couldn't see it. "What do you want, Count?" he said, not exactly with warning but with a slight cut to the edge of his tone.

He heard Dooku sigh. "_I wished to express my sincere condolences for your loss, Obi-Wan."_

That... hadn't been what Obi-Wan was expecting at all. For all intents and purposes, Dooku hated Anakin Skywalker and all he stood for (although to be fair, the feeling was quite mutual). Obi-Wan blinked and met Padmé's startled expression over the table. "Why?"

_"I know we have not always seen eye-to-eye, Obi-Wan –"_

"We are on opposite sides of a war and you've been trying to have me killed for the last four years," Obi-Wan said incredulously.

"_Nevertheless_," Dooku continued as though Obi-Wan had only commented about the weather, "_I understand what it means to lose someone you were close_ to." He softened his voice, sounding sympathetic now._ "Skywalker's death must be hard on you."__  
_

A short silence stretched out. Perhaps Dooku was waiting for Obi-Wan to say _thank you_, or agree, but Obi-Wan kept his lips pressed tightly together and didn't answer.

_"As you are on leave at present, there is little chance of us meeting on the battlefield_," Dooku said when it became clear Obi-Wan wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of accepting his oh-so-heartfelt condolences. _"I would like to express my sympathies in person, however – perhaps over dinner?"_

"Am I to assume a lightsaber duel will be part of the main course?"

Obi-Wan could almost hear Dooku's frown. "_A neutral system and planet, without either of our armies or weapons. A temporary cease-fire on both our parts. I realise, of course," _he added, "_that you have no reason to trust me, but I would like to assure you my intentions are sincere."_

A temporary cease-fire? An unarmed meeting on a neutral system and planet? _Dinner?_ It was all sounding far too bizarre to be true. Padmé also seemed to think so: although she was sitting perfectly still and assuming the picture of calmness, Obi-Wan could sense her anger boiling beneath the surface, noticing the way the corner of her mouth twitched in disapproval. "I see. And what prompted this sudden desire to connect with me, might I ask?"

_"Perhaps_," Dooku said smoothly, "_I am being a sentimental old fool. We could have been allies once, you and I. I suspect that time has passed, but I am not so uncivil as to take delight in a man's death, particularly not one part of my legacy. I would pay my respects to you, and to Skywalker's memory." _

Now that was really going to far. Obi-Wan almost rolled his eyes, and Padmé shook her head in dismay.

"_Before you politely decline, might I ask you give it a few days to think my offer over?_"

"Of course," Obi-Wan said, and as soon as Dooku cancelled the transmission he let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He met Padmé's eyes again and held them and suspected he wasn't the only one in the room feeling surreal. "Well. That was..."

"What are you going to do?" Padmé interrupted, immediately business-like. Obi-Wan stroked his beard contemplatively.

"I will inform the Council there has been a security breach," he said. "Dooku should not have been able to get ahold of my personal comm. link number like that."

"Will you go to dinner with him?"

"Perhaps. Or perhaps not. Dooku has always had something of an... interest in me." To put it mildly. "He once tried to persuade me to his side using Qui-Gon; now I suspect he will try again, using Anakin."

_On the other hand_, he thought, _it could be used as a tactical advantage._

But again, Padmé seemed to know what he was thinking. "You're not seriously considering agreeing, are you?" she exclaimed. "It's obviously a trap!"

"Is it really a trap if you know it's a trap you are walking into?" he asked.

"Obi-Wan," she said, clearly not in the mood for a philosophical debate. The warning in her voice was laced with fear. _Don't do it. Please, don't go._

He reached over the table to take her hand. "I will take the recording to the Jedi Council and I will discuss it with them," he reassured her. "Don't worry."

"You won't do anything reckless," she said, making it sound like an order.

_No wonder he married you._ "I promise."


End file.
